


Covert Blue

by KathyRose, Kylie Lee (kylielee1000)



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M, Voyeurism, covert op, offworld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-21
Updated: 2009-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:09:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 74,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KathyRose/pseuds/KathyRose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kylielee1000/pseuds/Kylie%20Lee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reed and Shran pose as lovers during a covert op.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Covert Blue

**Author's Note:**

> We started this on March 10, 2009, and check it out! Six months later, it's done.

### PROLOGUE

Blue and yellow bolts of lightning danced behind his eyelids with any movement of his head. That's the first thing he noticed—that, and the accompanying vise that seemed to be squeezing his head tighter and tighter. When he opened his eyes, the light was so bright that he was forced to quickly shut them again; the brilliance was even more painful that the pounding in his head, and it wasn't helped at all by the too-loud voice.

"I don't speak Andorian," Reed said.

"I said, don't move. You've been injured," said a sibilant voice tinged with arrogance.

It took a few moments for him to place the voice. When he did, he kept his eyes closed, for flashes of memory—weapons fire, sparks arcing from a console, an abrupt tilt as the shuttle angled down out of control—were flooding his mind. They'd been about to crash, coming in fast toward some alarmingly large trees as he fought the sluggish controls.

He didn't remember anything after that. He lifted a hand to his head, moaning. Even thinking hurt.

"If I'm reading this correctly," the voice continued, "you've sustained a concussion." Reed heard the whirring of a scanner. "No broken bones. And I don't think you've damaged any internal organs. Other than your brain, that is."

Something clicked: Reed was able to place the voice. "Shran!" he gritted out between clenched teeth. "Shut up. Your voice makes my head hurt."

Shran obligingly kept silent, but Reed could hear him moving closer. Something cool touched his neck, followed by the hiss of a hypospray. He should have been worried, not knowing what Shran was injecting into him, but the pain was such that he didn't care.

Then Shran did speak, but his voice was low, barely more than a whisper. "An analgesic. I found it in the medical supplies."

Reed let out a slow sigh as the pounding in his head began to lessen. The analgesic was taking effect. He thought it might be safe to risk opening his eyes. He did, and saw Shran, an insufferable expression of superiority on his blue face, peering at him, so close that Reed recoiled involuntarily. The movement gave renewed strength to the pain in his head, but he kept his eyes open, his gaze locked on the Andorian's.

"That's better," Shran said with a sardonic smile, then shook his head. "I don't know why Archer insisted such a puny specimen of his species assist me on this mission."

### CHAPTER 1

#### FIVE DAYS EARLIER

Captain Jonathan Archer glanced up when Malcolm Reed entered. "Have a seat, Lieutenant, I'll be with you in a moment," Archer said, returning his attention to his console and a data padd.

"Yes, sir," Reed said, doing his best to keep curiosity out of his voice. He sat in the proffered chair. "Commander," he said politely to T'Pol who stood, hands clasped behind her back, contemplating the artwork on the walls of the captain's ready room.

"Lieutenant," T'Pol said, turning away from the artwork to move in front of the long window, although she acknowledged him with a small nod. Her faint reflection hung in the glass, the blue of her uniform subdued by the blackness of space.

First a call from someone high up in Starfleet, then a meeting with only Archer, himself, and T'Pol present? Something was definitely afoot. But _Enterprise_ hadn't made contact with any new aliens, or run into the Klingons again, or annoyed the Orions. Reed was totally at a loss. His curiosity was also piqued by the glaring absence of Commander Trip Tucker, the captain's old friend. Although relations between Archer and Tucker had cooled since Tucker's sister had died in the Xindi attack, it was a rare mission that didn't involve the chief engineer in some integral way.

"Sorry," Archer said after an interminable minute or so. "Paperwork." He tossed the padd down and leaned back in his chair. "T'Pol, Malcolm, Starfleet has been confronted with a unique opportunity."

Reed looked quizzical, and T'Pol turned, back to the window, to give her full attention to the captain.

"It's the Andorians," Archer said.

This was the last thing Reed expected to hear. "Andorians, sir?" he queried. "Is there a problem? We haven't seen Andorians for...well, for months."

"Yes, Andorians," Archer confirmed. "Starfleet has received a request from the Imperial Guard."

"Commander Shran," T'Pol guessed.

"Yes...and no." Archer settled back into his chair. "I suspect Shran is behind it, but he did it through channels." He picked up the padd and waved it, as if that illustrated everything. "Some sensitive defense technology has been leaked, and the Vulcans are up in arms about it. It may affect the Andorian–Vulcan treaty." Archer nodded at T'Pol.

"Vulcan is very interested in maintaining peace with the Andorians," T'Pol noted. "Their proximity to Vulcan makes good relations essential." She cocked her head. "Was this defense technology meant to exert Andorian superiority over Vulcan?"

"No, the opposite," Archer said. "The technology was a joint project with the Vulcans."

"So the leak could have been on either side—the Vulcans or the Andorians," Reed put in.

"It is most illogical that the Vulcans would leak information in a such a venture," T'Pol pointed out. "It is likely that the leak was on the Andorian side."

"And the Andorians say the same about the Vulcans," Archer said dryly. "Guess whose job it is to figure out what went wrong? Andoria has requested our help. The Vulcans are all for it because they think we'll mediate the Andorians' usual extremism."

T'Pol nodded approvingly, and Reed tried not to roll his eyes.

"The defense project's HQ is on a trade planet. Here." Archer hit a button on his console. Reed rose and circled around so he could peer over the captain's shoulder, and T'Pol joined him. "It's neutral ground where the two parties can work. It's also a busy place. Lots of ships in and out."

"Likely they chose it for that reason," Reed theorized, taking in the data on the screen. "Easy to resupply. And no one will question whatever odd things they might requisition. They can spread it out, as needed, over multiple shipments."

"Exactly." Archer turned his head to look at him, and Reed, startled, straightened abruptly. "You and an Andorian operative will go in on a rented shuttle. No uniforms, no insignia, no rank. Nothing to tie you or the shuttle to Starfleet or the Imperial Guard. You are going undercover to discover the source of the leak."

Reed ducked his head to conceal the reaction on his face. "Covert ops," he muttered. He now knew why he'd been selected for this mission.

"Your...experience will be invaluable," T'Pol commented. "An excellent choice."

"Thank you," Reed said faintly.

"You'll be piloting the shuttle. We'll have identity papers and a reason for you to be there. T'Pol, meanwhile, will work her Vulcan network to discover if the leak was on the Vulcan side."

"No Andorian escort for Commander T'Pol?" Reed wondered.

"No. Ambassador Soval and some other Vulcan higher-ups were most adamant that she work alone."

Reed could understand their reluctance. Vulcan and Andoria had a long history of conflict. The Vulcans wanted to trust the Andorians—this joint defense project was proof of that—but they weren't ready yet to allow them access to Vulcan intelligence operations.

The captain shut off the data stream on his console, blacking the screen. "This is a real opportunity for Earth," he said. "Andorian-Earth relations really need this boost. Starfleet has placed the highest priority on this mission. Lieutenant, you leave first thing in the morning. You'll pick up the shuttle that Starfleet has arranged, and then you'll rendezvous with an Andorian ship to pick up your Andorian escort. He has all the papers and intel to get you into the Vulcan–Andorian compound."

"And who is my escort to be, sir?" Reed asked.

He wasn't surprised at Archer's answer. "Oh, didn't I say? Commander Shran."

* * *

The more Reed thought about the mission, the more irritated he became. He'd been picked for this assignment because of his background in covert ops, but he would have to follow the orders of one of the most cantankerous aliens he'd ever met. Archer had made it clear that Shran would be in charge, as this was an Andorian mission. The only caveat Archer had issued was that Reed could refuse to do anything that might violate his oath to Starfleet.

This whole situation reeked of irony. For so long, he'd kept his past with the covert ops branch of Starfleet a secret. Then, when he'd been dragged back in, it had blown up in his face. His old boss, Harris, had ordered him to deliberately hinder an investigation into Doctor Phlox's kidnapping, and in following those orders, Reed had lost Archer's trust. It had taken a long time to regain that trust. And now, when his covert ops background was finally acknowledged in a positive light by the man he'd chosen to serve, he was being placed in a subordinate role. If all they needed was a pilot, Reed thought in disgruntlement, Archer may as well have picked Travis Mayweather for this mission.

His frustration grew into outrage as he walked into an old hangar well away from the main grounds of Starfleet in San Francisco. The least they could have done was give him a decent ship to fly. The piece of junk in front of him had seen better days several decades ago. He double-checked to make sure he had found the correct vessel. Unfortunately, the call sign, inscribed in faded letters and numbers on the side of the shuttle, matched what was on his padd. If the outside was any indication, the interior wasn't going to be pretty.

He reminded himself that orders were orders, a mantra that had seen him through many difficult situations. He walked quickly over to the open hatch, steeling himself for the worst. He stuck his head in the hatch, and his eyes went wide.

"Hey, Malcolm!" Tucker was sprawled on his back under the helm controls, an open toolbox next to him. "What's up?"

Reed frowned. This was supposed to be a secret operation. Tucker hadn't even been at the meeting in the captain's ready room. "What are you doing here?"

"Just making sure this beauty gets you where you need to go. She just needs a little work and—" He uttered a curse as he pinched a finger in a connection. "—she'll be fine. Better than fine, in fact."

Reed slumped against a bulkhead, only to immediately spring back up. A piece of metal sticking out where bulkhead plates met had poked his shoulder. "A little work?" he muttered sarcastically, rubbing his tender shoulder as his gaze traveled around the interior. It was as he'd feared. The shuttle was old and run-down, wear apparent on many of the fixtures. There were dings and scratches in the panels, the upholstery of the pilot's chair had a big tear with the stuffing hanging out, and in the rear, he could see scorch marks on the engine housing. Great! He was going on a classified mission in a ship with an engine that had caught fire at least once.

"How do you like it?" Tucker called out from under the helm console.

"I'd like to see it tossed on a trash heap," Reed responded truthfully.

Tucker slid out from under the console and sat up. "Really, Malcolm, a lot of the damage you see is cosmetic." A boyish grin lit his face. "In fact, I did some of it myself."

"What?"

"It's like a disguise for the shuttle. No one who looks at this would expect it to be capable of very much."

Reed couldn't argue with that logic, despite the fact that the shuttle didn't look like it was capable of flight, much less anything else. A banged-up ship would fit in much better where he was going than would a shiny new model, but it would have been nice to have something a little more...tidy. He exhaled heavily. He moved to sit on one of the dingy chairs at an auxiliary station, checking first to make sure no springs were poking through the cushion. "How much do you know about my mission?"

Tucker shrugged nonchalantly but eyed the other officer curiously. "Just what the cap'n told me. You're going undercover, no Starfleet markings, and make sure everything is in perfect working order."

Reed glanced at the engine area, then pointedly at Tucker.

"Don't let the outside fool you," Tucker said. "She'll do warp three-point-eight without breaking a sweat. She's also got an upgraded impulse engine."

Reed grudgingly admitted that would be fast enough, unless, of course, they were being chased by a bigger, faster ship. In which case, they'd need something to defend themselves with. "Armaments aren't standard on this class of vessel."

Tucker smirked. "Thought you might be worried about that." He levered himself to his feet and took a step over to the main auxiliary console where he punched a button. A screen above the panel lit up.

Reed rose from the chair in astonishment to join him. "A phase cannon?" he asked incredulously as he stared at the data and schematics that had popped up on the screen.

"Yeah." Tucker grinned. "Not as big as the ones on _Enterprise,_ but enough to do a fair amount of damage, especially since you'll have the element of surprise on your side. It's got some shielding that ought to confuse any sensors long enough so you can get one or two shots off before they even know you're armed and dangerous."

The last was said with a chortle, making Reed frown at the engineer. "This isn't some game, Trip."

Tucker sobered immediately. "I know, Malcolm. I know. I'm just doing my damnedest to make sure you've got everything you need to do whatever it is you're supposed to do and get back in one piece. I'm just sorry I don't have time to install a couple of torpedoes and a launcher for you."

Reed nodded his appreciation, but said, "If this mission goes as planned, hopefully we won't need any weapons." He began a new perusal of the interior, pushing a few buttons and checking readouts. Armaments, life support, communications—they all appeared to be functioning at more than acceptable levels. When Tucker was finished with the helm controls, he'd check them as well. He glanced sidelong at Tucker, who was watching him with a pleased expression.

"You'll still need to bring in supplies," Tucker told him. "Food and so on."

"That should be delivered later." Reed moved over to check another set of readouts. "And I'll have to go back to _Enterprise_ to get some changes of clothing and any final orders from the captain."

"Any idea how long you're going to be gone?"

"Not a clue. I'll be taking enough supplies for several weeks, at least."

"Well, in that case, you'll be very happy with one particular improvement I made. Even our shuttlepods don't have them."

There was only one thing Tucker could possibly mean. Reed looked up to see Tucker grinning at him.

"That's right," Tucker said. "I installed a head." He gestured toward the rear of the craft, where a closet-size cubicle that obviously wasn't part of the original fittings was positioned against a bulkhead.

Reed closed his eyes, remembering the time he and Tucker had spent on a shuttlepod, thinking _Enterprise_ had been destroyed and they'd been stranded in space with no chance of rescue. They were going to run out of air long before they could fly anywhere, but a more immediate concern had been what to do with certain by-products of the human body.

For the first time since he'd learned of his covert assignment, Reed felt the tension that had been knotting his shoulders and gut relax a fraction. He turned to Tucker with a genuine smile. "For that addition alone, I shall be eternally grateful."

* * *

"Lieutenant Reed for Commander Shran," Reed said again, tamping back anger. His decrepit shuttle didn't look like much, he knew, but he hardly expected such overtly discourteous behavior. "I believe he is expecting me."

"I'll see," the blue-skinned comm officer said dubiously, and blanked the screen. She'd effectively hung up on him.

Reed said ironically, "Thanks so much for your help," but he left the com open. As he waited for a response to his fourth call to the Andorian ship in orbit above Earth that Shran was supposed to be on, he tapped a control that began soothing music. He'd selected Mozart, whose work he always found calming because of its regular meter and predictable harmonies. He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, trying to relax. He could always go on the op alone, he supposed. Actually, he wouldn't mind that a bit. It might even be better for all concerned—

"You call that a shuttle, Lieutenant?" a voice screeched, and Reed's eyes flew open.

"Commander," he said neutrally as he hit the control that activated the viewscreen.

"And turn off that awful music," Shran continued, as if he was doing his utmost to make Reed's life unpleasant. "I've given permission for your vessel to land in one of our hangar bays. Although why Captain Archer didn't come himself—"

Reed raised his eyebrows as he muted the music. Archer and Shran, in close proximity for weeks on a mission? Well, it wasn't ideal, but now that he thought about it, Archer and Shran would make a far better team. At least Shran saw Archer as almost an equal.

"Captain Archer is a very busy man," Reed said calmly, inputting the coordinates his console now showed him.

"As you are not, apparently." Shran's antennae waved slowly. "You'll wait in the shuttle. We'll be in high-speed warp for six hours. Then I'll join you, and the ship will let us off so we can travel the rest of the way in comfort. On that lovely shuttle of yours."

Reed noticed that he wasn't invited aboard for the warp jaunt. "Perhaps if I came aboard and you briefed me—" he hinted.

"I hardly think so," Shran snapped, and cut the com.

Reed turned Mozart back on and, finding that the Andorian ship had granted him clearance to a hangar bay, piloted the shuttle inside. After the hangar bay doors closed behind the little vessel, he shut down the engine and, casting a grateful eye at the newly installed head, prepared to wait. He was determined that Shran's attempts to keep the upper hand wouldn't get to him. Of course Shran was the lead on this mission. But the best thing about covert ops was autonomy, and once he was in his element, Reed was certain matters would greatly improve.

When Shran finally joined Reed some hours later, the Andorian was only slightly mollified by the shuttle's upgrades, including the weaponry. Reed, however, was more impressed by Tucker's work than ever. It was clear that Shran's ship had done a scan but hadn't seen the improvements. The shielding was the real technological coup here. If anybody did a serious scan, it wouldn't hold up, but by just looking at the shuttle and following up with a routine cursory scan, any reasonable person would dismiss it as a threat.

Reed also discovered that Shran was in an awful mood and wasn't worth talking to. Shran responded to all attempts at briefing with sarcasm followed by silence, and Reed quickly gave up—just as Shran intended, no doubt, but Reed could take a hint.

They would be in transit for a solid day before they reached the trade planet Archer had identified. It had taken a day to outfit the shuttle, hitch a ride in the Andorian ship's hangar bay, load Shran and his minimal luggage on board, and get underway. At least Shran knew how to pack light. Reed, who himself had fit everything he needed into a single duffle, had to give him that.

"I suppose Commander T'Pol is working the Vulcan angle," Shran said out of the blue about six hours into their flight.

Reed removed his earbug, which he'd programmed to play Mozart and Telemann—music Shran definitely did not like. "Sir?" he said cautiously.

"T'Pol. The Vulcan side of things," Shran repeated. He sat in the copilot's chair next to Reed, but he didn't look at Reed.

"Oh. Yes, sir, that was her assignment."

"I seems unlikely that the Vulcans would do something so against their interests and so against all logic, but then again, it wasn't the Andorians who leaked the information."

Reed, encouraged, noted, "I suppose it could be a third party."

"I suppose. But who?" Shran immediately answered his own question. "The Tellurians. The Nausicaans. The Orions." He sighed. "It could be anybody. Andoria's enemies are legion."

Because of the Andorian people's tendency to anger quickly, Reed thought, but he didn't say it out loud. "With respect, sir, with that kind of knowledge of top-secret government-level information? Not just anybody."

"And yet here I am, on a mission of the utmost importance, and who do they put me with?" Shran waved vaguely at Reed. "You. A lieutenant."

"My background uniquely suits me to this mission," Reed said stiffly.

"I'm sure it seems so to you."

"And to Captain Archer."

"Ah. Yes. I suppose." Shran brooded as Reed fumed. "I suppose I did request Archer and his crew," he grudgingly admitted. "I just didn't imagine Archer would delegate so...thoroughly." He turned to eye Reed—the first time he'd looked at Reed in all their hours of travel. "You are rather small for a human, are you not?"

"I am appropriately sized for a human," Reed ground out.

"But you are much smaller than Captain Archer."

"Captain Archer is notably tall. He is not of average height."

"Ah. I didn't realize that. So you are average?"

"Perhaps a bit shorter than average," Reed admitted. "What about you? What is your size in relationship to your fellow Andorians?"

"That is hardly relevant," Shran said dismissively.

"So it's relevant for me and not for you?"

"I am a commander in the Imperial Guard," Shran pointed out. "My service speaks for itself."

"And I would say the same about me."

Shran glanced at him, more amused than anything. He really was most terribly arrogant, Reed realized. But if Shran was in a chatty mood, maybe Reed could finally get him to talk about the mission.

Reed said, "Sir, if you could perhaps tell me more about the joint project with the Vulcans. I understood that you were to brief me en route."

Shran harrumped. "I suppose I should, although what good it will do is beyond me. You won't be playing much of a role in this mission."

Reed, his annoyance at Shran's arrogance growing by leaps and bounds, had had just about enough, and it was all he could do to keep his temper in check. He couldn't comprehend how Archer had put up with it in the past. He turned in the pilot's seat to fully face the Andorian next to him. "If you're so intent on doing this all yourself, Commander, I don't understand why you asked for Starfleet's help."

"Of course you don't," Shran responded almost pityingly. "Other than Archer, I don't know of any other human who is even remotely qualified for such an operation."

That did it. Reed's hand darted out and grasped Shran by the front of his uniform. In one smooth motion, he stood and yanked the Andorian to his feet. It happened so quickly that Shran didn't even have time to blink. Shran, for his part, remained motionless, as if finally realizing that there was more to this smallish human than he'd first believed. Reed, on the other hand, wasn't quite sure what he intended to do, other than ram his free fist into Shran's nose, but Archer's warning that Shran was in charge kept him from carrying that out.

"You're quick," Shran said, a trace of admiration in his tone. Then his voice changed, taking on the silky characteristic that was indicative of the Imperial Guard officer on the verge of losing his temper. "But if you don't release me, there may be only one of us left to carry out this mission."

The threat was implicit, but Reed chose to deliberately misinterpret it. "You're right," he spat. "I wouldn't want to deal with the paperwork explaining your demise so early in the mission." He slowly relaxed his grip and took his hand away from the Andorian.

Shran stared at him, his antennae stretched out in disbelief at Reed's audacity. Then a laugh burst from him. "Maybe Archer was right to choose you. You actually remind me of him somewhat in this instance. Neither of you backs down."

Reed relaxed further, but kept his gaze locked on Shran. There was no telling what the man might do if he wanted to pursue the matter. But, to Reed's surprise, Shran issued another, softer laugh and sank back down into the copilot's chair.

"All right, then. If it's a briefing you want, it's a briefing you'll get."

Some time later, Reed was shaking his head. Shran had briefed him, all right, but he suspected that the Andorian had left out some information. Shran had insisted that the research facility was secure, an assertion he was able to back up with the location's security schematics. No unauthorized person could possibly have accessed the data, but nevertheless, it had happened. That left one alternative.

"It was an inside job," Reed said. Shran frowned at him, his antennae curling in confusion. The man clearly didn't understand the reference, so he added, "Someone working on the project has to be the leak."

Shran leaned back in his seat, frowning more deeply. "Until I reconnoiter, I won't know for sure."

"_We_ reconnoiter," Reed corrected him.

"I can blend in much more easily that you can," Shran shot back. "The last I was informed, there are no humans working on the project."

Reed briefly flashed on himself made up to look like an Andorian, then just as quickly dismissed it. "If I take care not to be seen, I don't have to blend in," he countered.

"Whatever," Shran said dismissively. Before Reed could protest further, Shran went on, "The important thing is that we find where the leak originated. The classified information went through at least two sets of hands before the Imperial Guard's intelligence units found out about it." At Reed's questioning look, he said, "You don't expect me to tell you specifics about Andorian intelligence operations, do you?"

Reed had to shake his head. "Just like you wouldn't expect me to tell you specifics about Starfleet intelligence."

Shran nodded. "Suffice it to say, we know there is a trail. We must find where it started, and that will lead us to where it ends."

Reed noted that Shran had subtly changed his remarks to include him as a participant. Maybe Shran was amenable to him helping, but had felt the need show the opposite, at least initially. It would be in keeping with the blustery Andorian temperament. Unfortunately, Andorians also tended to have a vicious bite to go along with their outrageous shows of temper. Reed regretted his own hostile display earlier, but it had done the trick. He could have tried to reason with Shran until he himself was blue in the face, but he had a feeling it wouldn't have changed Shran's attitude toward him one whit. Force and belligerence, however, seemed to be something Shran could relate to. Or maybe it was something cultural. Did all Andorians test the strength of others before they would work willingly—and uncomplaining—with them? Reed suddenly wished he'd had time before leaving _Enterprise_ to see what the Vulcan database had to say about Andorians, other than the obvious.

"We'll arrive in another sixteen hours or so," Shran said after glancing at the chronometer on the helm console. "I suggest you take a rest period. I'll pilot for a while."

Reed started to bristle, but caught himself. What Shran was suggesting was sound operating procedure for covert ops. There was always the possibility that a time would come when they wouldn't be able to rest for days on end.

"I'll expect you to relieve me after several hours," Shran added sardonically over his shoulder after Reed got up and headed for the back of the shuttle.

Reed bit back the sarcastic response that threatened to spill past his lips. What was it about Shran that made him want to rip the other man's head off? Other than the arrogant, condescending manner that seemed a constant of his personality, that is. Of course, Shran was in charge, and Reed had to follow his orders, but Shran's style reminded him of the occasional martinet that would get through Starfleet screening and make life hell for his subordinates. Then again, Reed wondered if he'd become so accustomed to Archer's more relaxed style of command that he'd forgotten what it was like to be with a superior officer who brooked no questioning or comment of his orders.

Reed made his way to the storage lockers, where he looked over the stock of rations he'd had brought on board. A full stomach would be conducive to sleeping, so he'd eat something before trying to settle down for a nap. He selected something that wouldn't upset his still roiling stomach, warmed it in the portable heating unit Tucker had seen fit to install, and had just pulled the lid off when Shran suddenly turned around in the pilot's seat to face him.

Shran didn't say anything. He didn't have to. The look of disgust on his face as he sniffed the aroma of bacon and eggs wafting through the shuttle said more than enough.

Reed smirked as Shran turned back toward the helm controls, but the smirk soon faded. It was going to be a long sixteen hours until they reached the trade planet. Reed only hoped they were both alive when they arrived.

### CHAPTER 2

Reed swiped the key card he wore on a lanyard around his neck through the lift's security slot. "Easy enough," he commented as he held the door open for Shran. He had to bite off the "sir" that came automatically to his lips.

They were undercover now, wearing civilian clothes and carrying civilian tech, including the very latest models of padds and scanners—cleverly disguised by Tucker, once again, by removing the manufacturers' logos and ensuring they looked ordinary and banged up.

The equipment blended in perfectly with the local environment. The spaceport of the city in which they'd landed had the appearance of being run down, but that was typical of many older trading ports where the comings and goings of all manner of ships and species took its toll. After a routine landing, they'd hired a taxi to bring them to this office building. Along the way, they'd seen nothing to disabuse them of the notion that this planet had a wild, perhaps even lawless, side, with taverns and questionable establishments lining the route from the port to the city's main business district. Even the downtown area, where workers could be seen rushing about their business in marginally better surroundings, seemed overshadowed by an air of decadence and decay.

"You'd think we could have afforded a hotel room, at least for me," Shran grumbled as the door closed. He and Reed were the only occupants of the lift.

"We'll stay in the shuttle," Reed said firmly, for probably the fifth time. "If you like, we can purchase portable mattresses." He told the lift, "Floor six, please," and grasped a handhold as the lift began to slide sideways, then up.

"I do not require such comforts," Shran shot back, belying his complaints. "As a member of the—" At Reed's glare, he quickly altered his wording, eyeing the security camera in the corner of the lift's ceiling. "Er, as a member of the, the, er, the Brotherhood of Electronic Arts, at the very least I could, er, I could stay at the local headquarters."

"What, and leave me to my own devices?" Reed said ironically, playing for the camera as well as getting a dig in at Shran. "That would hardly do. You have frequently commented that I require constant supervision."

"True." Shran pondered. "Alas, yes, you are right. You remain untested in—in diagnostics. We will stay in the shuttle."

Reed hid a smile at Shran's verbal sidestepping. Shran, ever the military man, had not yet caught onto the "covert" part of covert ops. Even though Archer had told him this was to be a low-profile mission, Reed knew Shran's first inclination was to march in and start interrogating people. He wondered briefly if Shran had ever gone undercover before. The Andorian struck him as more a bull in a china shop type, without a subtle bone in his body. Reed had felt compelled to tell him, before they'd left the shuttle, to assume that they would be under constant surveillance and to never break character.

"Floor six," the lift said in a neutral feminine voice as the door opened.

Shran exited first, Reed close behind. A few people stepped aside to let them out, but Reed and Shran occasioned hardly a second glance. The number of people dressed in business wear was about equal to the number of people dressed, like Reed and Shran, in utilitarian workers' clothing.

On the long ride in from the port, they had debated whether to visit the research site immediately, which took up half a floor in this office building. Not surprisingly, Shran was all for it. Although Reed valued Shran's input, he had met enough other Andorians to know that military directness was not always the norm in the species. Nor did Andorian civilians and researchers, any more than humans, or Vulcans for that matter, appreciate being directed by military personnel used to the chain of command and instant compliance. He'd therefore persuaded Shran that they ought to do a covert reconnaissance first. Then they could go in better informed and catch the research staff out in any lie.

"Here it is," Shran noted, pointing at a doorway. The sign was in three languages: Andorian and Vulcan and what was most likely the native language of the planet. Reed could decipher none of them. "Medical Diagnostics Inc.," Shran informed him.

Reed glanced over his shoulder for one last look at the corridor. He had noted two surveillance devices in plain sight, standard security units. He tried not to let his gaze linger too long on the next door down the corridor: their target. Medical Diagnostics Inc. shared a wall with the weapons research facility, although that door was labeled "Andorian Mining and Ore." Or so Shran had told him; he couldn't read that sign, either.

"Good," Reed said. "Go on in. Don't just stand there staring."

Shran glared at him but did as Reed suggested. They showed their IDs to the receptionist, an elderly Vulcan woman who waved them in past her desk when they identified themselves as technicians to check the heating and cooling system. An Andorian and a human working together in such a situation would not be remarked upon—not given the mixture of races working on this planet.

"I do regret that the access point to the system is in our offices," the Vulcan woman commented, rising to her feet once they were past the reception counter. "This is the third check in as many weeks. I don't recognize you."

"No, ma'am," Reed said courteously. "This is our first time here."

The Vulcan frowned at Shran. "The other two were Andorians," she said. One of her eyebrows lifted. "You're an Andorian."

"I assure you, we don't all know each other," Shran said.

"We're experts in this particular system," Reed added hastily. "We don't work directly for the building's owners. We're specialists on contract from the manufacturer, who was contacted by the owners." And he'd made sure that story would check out before they'd left the shuttle, after Shran had agreed to this plan of action. It was amazing what a little computer network hacking in a planetary database could do.

"Oh." The Vulcan seemed satisfied with the explanation. "It's just down that corridor. The door is labeled. Here is the key." She handed Shran a key card. "You need not return it," she added. "It is single use. The lock will reset."

"What if we need to leave and come back?" Reed asked.

"Then you ask for a new key." The receptionist sat back down. "Try not to make too much noise with your equipment," she added. "My ears are very sensitive."

Reed picked up the backpack that contained his tools and threw it over a shoulder. After he and Shran had walked far enough away to be out of the hearing of those sensitive Vulcan ears, he commented, "I wonder what the previous technicians did, if she's complaining about excess noise. I checked out the maintenance schedule when I arranged our visit here. There was no information in the computer system about their being here."

"I have no information on that either," Shran said. "If they weren't technicians, it could be that the noise they made was to cover what they were really up to."

The same thought had occurred to Reed. He followed Shran as Shran checked the door signs against the key card. If the previous workmen hadn't been technicians, he and Shran were on the right track to find the route used to leak the research data. That also might mean, however, that his theory about an inside job was wrong. It may have been an outright theft. The cover could actually be the problem, he realized: maybe someone wanted information on ores and metals, only to stumble onto something much more interesting.

Shran stopped at a door near the far end of the corridor. "This is it." He swiped the card and entered as soon as the door slid open.

Reed glanced back down the corridor. No one was in sight. Other than the receptionist, no one should know they were here. He followed Shran in and the door slid shut behind him, the click of a locking mechanism sounding distinctly. He studied the inside of the door. There was a release that didn't require the key card. They could get out, but as the receptionist had told them, they wouldn't be able to get back in again without a new card—unless they blocked the locking mechanism, of course. Reed didn't see the point. If they needed to come back, their current cover would suffice to obtain another card.

Shran was standing in the center of the room, his hands on his hips. "Where to start? Where to start?" he muttered.

Reed gestured toward a panel low on the wall to the right. "The access to the heating and cooling system would seem to be the obvious place."

Shran turned a fierce glare on him. "If we were really here doing maintenance work."

Reed hissed a warning, his gaze darting around in search of surveillance devices.

"Of course," Shran smoothly continued, "we are more than mere maintenance workers. We are members of the Brotherhood of Electronic Arts, and as such, we view our work as art, not menial labor. Remember that, lowly apprentice!"

Reed closed his eyes, holding back a groan. It was a good thing that Shran had covered his gaffe quickly, even if it had provided him another opportunity for a verbal jab. Lowly apprentice, indeed. Reed opened his eyes to find Shran looking smugly at him, obviously pleased with himself.

"Let's get to work," Shran ordered.

Reed dropped the backpack. He pulled a scanner from one of his pockets and walked the perimeter of the room, searching for surveillance devices. After making a full circuit, he announced, "This room is clean."

A few pieces of cast-off furniture and a couple of filing cabinets were pushed against a wall. Reed checked the cabinets, but both were empty, as were the drawers on a desk. Clearly the office was used as storage. He adjusted the scanner and aimed it at the wall shared with the research facility, directly opposite the door. He couldn't scan through it, and the material appeared to be too dense to allow for any type of breach, like a drill hole. So much for gathering intel that way, but he hadn't thought it would be feasible. He returned the scanner to his pocket.

"It looks like we're going to have go in through the ventilation system after all," he remarked.

He joined Shran, who, having pulled a wrench out of the backpack, was already removing the bolts holding the access panel in place. "You should have realized that," Shran said. "You did look at the schematics for the research facility, remember?"

Reed ignored the jibe. One thing he'd learned in his time with covert ops was that although slow and steady didn't always win the race, methodical procedures often did. If there had been an easier way in, his scanner would have shown it. At least they knew no one from the research facility could sneak up behind them through this room. And if the receptionist came to check on them, they had a legitimate reason for being inside the ventilation system, because that was where the heating and cooling equipment was located.

The panel came free under Shran's hands. The Andorian set it aside, revealing an opening no bigger than one meter square. He looked at Reed. "I go first."

"By all means," Reed responded, snatching up the wrench from where Shran had tossed it. He gave it a quick toss and flip, then tucked it into his backpack. Despite the constant irritation that was Shran, he found he was rather enjoying being back in his old element. It felt good to use the skills he'd honed during his time in covert ops.

Shran ducked down and thrust his head and shoulders into the opening. A moment later, he pulled his head back out. "Or you could wait here." He sounded hopeful.

"I don't think so."

Shran shrugged and ducked back in, curling his antennae so as not to bump them on the edge.

Reed closed the backpack. As he slung it over his shoulder, he heard the sound of movement, followed by muttering. He squatted next to the opening and called, "Did you say something?"

"I said, if you're coming, do it sometime today!"

Reed gritted his teeth and stepped into the hole. He discovered he couldn't wear the backpack: the hole was too small. He had to remove it and push it ahead of him as he crawled. He moved easily through the opening into the darkness on the other side. Once past the heating and cooling equipment, there were a number of ventilation ducts leading off in several directions. Shran was disconnecting a portion of a duct that entered the wall at eye level. It was a good thing neither of them was a big person, Reed thought as he looked at the hole in the wall after the ductwork was removed. It was going to be tight. Someone tall—like the captain—would probably not fit at all.

Reed gave Shran a boost up. The Andorian quickly disappeared down the duct. Reed managed to hurl the backpack through the hole, then jumped up and pulled himself in. Shran wouldn't have been able to help him climb in, even if he'd been so inclined. There wasn't enough room for a person to turn around. As it was, Shran was a good five meters down the duct by the time Reed had pulled himself all the way in and had turned on his small flashlight, which he stuck in his mouth.

There was little to look at as he crawled along behind Shran, just the walls of the duct, the backpack, and the pair of Andorian boots in front of him. A few ducts cross-connected with the one they were in, but Shran kept to the main shaft.

"Do you know where you're going?" Reed whispered just loud enough for Shran to hear.

Shran halted, twisting onto his side to look back at him. "As long as we're headed in the direction of the...ah, in this direction, we should eventually arrive where we want to be...to fix those problems."

At least he's starting to think before he blurts something out, Reed thought as Shran resumed moving forward. Not that Reed thought there would be surveillance devices in the ventilation system, but if he was in charge of the secret project, he would have put detection devices everywhere, including where he and Shran were right now.

To keep his mind off the bruising his elbows and knees were taking as he slithered through the duct work, Reed reviewed this portion of the mission so far. They'd entered the building with no problem, which was what he had hoped, but to find a Vulcan working as a receptionist at the business next to their target? That seemed to be too much of a coincidence. Some Vulcans did work away from their home planet, but to find one at a private business a stone's throw from a weapons research facility staffed by Vulcans and Andorians was a bit much. He wondered if she had been planted there, ostensibly working for a legitimate business, just to keep an eye open for this particular contingency. But for whom would she really be working? She'd volunteered that Andorian technicians had been here twice already. Surely if she was connected to the research facility, she would have alerted her superiors to those incursions, and not told him and Shran. Or maybe she was part of the leak. Or...perhaps she was totally innocent and it was all a coincidence.

Reed grimaced as he crawled along. There was no sense speculating until they had some evidence, although it was good procedure to consider all possibilities. That way, if one of them occurred, it wasn't a total surprise.

He noticed that it was becoming brighter than it should be for just the beams of two flashlights. They were probably approaching some sort of opening. Before he could ask what was ahead, the duct widened into a larger crawl space, and Reed was able to move shoulder to shoulder with Shran.

The Andorian jerked his head toward a grate ahead of them, where light was streaming in. "That's it," Shran mouthed.

They cautiously edged toward the grate, and peered out and down. A large room lay before them. There were a number of worktables, equipment and computer access stations atop them. A simulation was running on one of the screens that faced them—something to do with energy yields, if Reed was seeing it correctly. There was only one person in the room: an Andorian with a white lab coat over street clothes.

Reed inched backward, motioning Shran to do the same. He spoke quietly, more breath than voice. "This grate isn't on the schematics you showed me, nor did they show that it shares a common ventilation system with another business."

Shran stared back. "What? You expect such potential security risks to be shown on schematics that might fall into the hands of someone who would exploit them? I think not."

"Shran—"

"This is no time to argue. Just let me say that this setup is typical of Andorian high-security facilities. That is why I was able to find this location so quickly once we entered the ventilation system."

Reed stared at him. He had been correct. Shran had been holding back information. Yet something didn't sound quite right. "That means the way we came in—"

"Is actually part of the weapons research facility, although Medical Diagnostics Inc. appears to be a separate business concern." Shran turned to look toward the grate. "You were probably right that the leak is a...what did you call it? Inside job. How far inside remains to be seen."

Reed closed his eyes and counted to ten, trying to get a grip on his temper. When he opened his eyes, he was startled to see that Shran had moved back to the grate. The man could move like a wraith when he wanted to. Moving as quietly as possible, Reed joined him. But while Shran continued to observe the room on the other side, Reed inspected the grate itself.

"Look at this," he whispered to Shran. He pointed to one of the corners where the grate was attached to the wall. The screw to hold it in place was missing, as were two of the other three corner screws. Reed carefully pushed against the edge of the grate, which swung noiselessly up and to the side. A quick check on the technician in the lab below them revealed that he wasn't aware of their presence, and Reed hastily moved the grate back into position before the tech could notice.

"A person can't get through here," Shran whispered. "It's too small."

Reed nodded his agreement, then squinted as his eye was caught by a reflection on the wall above the grate. He reached up and touched what felt like moldy plastic. When he removed his hand, his fingers came away sticky. He started to wipe his fingers on his shirt but caught himself, remembering a covert operation long ago. He'd been tagged to contact an informant who'd used a similar method to deliver information. "But a lot of other things can fit through here." He reached out and touched the spot again, this time running his hand over the entire sticky area. There was a tiny bump in the surface. Using his fingernails, he dug the tiny particle out, and looked at it. "This is a capsule that can hold a microchip," he told Shran.

Footsteps from the lab made them look through the grate. The technician's antennae were twitching as he held his head in a listening posture. Both Reed and Shran remained frozen, barely daring to breathe, until the technician shook his head and turned his attention back to his work.

Shran jerked his head toward the duct through which they'd crawled, and slithered that way. Reed was in total agreement. It was time to leave.

* * *

"Well?" Shran demanded.

"It won't make it go more quickly," Reed said, distracted.

"What?"

"Asking me for an update every few minutes." Reed sat back. "That does it." He flipped a switch on the side of the scanner, which reminded him of nothing more than an old-fashioned microscope. "Look."

Both he and Shran looked expectantly at the console's viewscreen in the shuttle. It had taken some time to remove the microchip from its protective capsule, but the wait for the results of the scan had taken even longer.

"Look at what?" Shran asked sarcastically. "I admit that your finding the microchip was a stroke of genius. However, if we can't read it, it does precious little good."

"Sorry." Reed slapped the side of the scanner—this wasn't one of the Tucker's new and improved gizmos—and suddenly the viewscreen came to life. "Oh, yes. Jackpot." Streams of data flowed down the screen. "And...it's encrypted." He clutched at his hair. This was more in Hoshi Sato's line, not his. He could do amazing things with weaponry, but breaking high-level code? He had a trick or two up his sleeve from his covert ops days, but...

"Oh, for the cold sun of the moons of Andoria!" Shran thrust a padd at Reed. "Of course it's encrypted. Copy the data onto here."

Reed obediently connected the beat-up padd. He had to admit that this piece of state-of-the-art commercial equipment was far better than Starfleet's—much faster, with some tweaks in the menu system that he quite liked. "Copying now," he said. He eyed the streams of nonsense. "Let me try a few tricks—"

"It's Andorian," Shran said briefly.

"The chip isn't Andorian."

"The chip is commercial. It could be purchased on any street corner on this blighted planet. But it seems to me that I recognize the...the architecture of these data."

The padd beeped quietly, and Reed disconnected it. "I assume you can decrypt the information?"

"Not me. I am notoriously bad with that kind of thing." Shran held out his hand.

No doubt Shran preferred action, Reed thought dryly as he handed Shran the padd.

Shran continued, "No, I know someone—let's say it's someone from the Brotherhood of Electronic Arts. If you could leave the shuttle for a few hours? Go off and have fun. This is a world of decadence and sensation, after all."

Reed's eyebrows ascended at the request. Shran was telling him to get lost and leave him alone. "Certainly," he agreed, but the tone of his voice indicated otherwise.

"Although decadence and sensation are likely foreign to you," Shran continued, apparently oblivious to Reed's annoyance. "Captain Archer! Now, there's a man who knows how to have a good time." He sounded wistful.

"Perhaps it's just that he actually likes Andorian ale," Reed commented.

"As I said." Shran indicated the door. "At least three hours."

Reed held up his communications device. "Contact me when you're finished."

"Fine. Yes. Go."

Reed went, but he wasn't happy about it. He was being cut out of the loop. Of course, he could take the chip with him and work on it elsewhere, but he decided against it. Once Shran had seen the data, he'd known what to do. He had only to wait and see if Shran would let him know what was going on.

Acting on a hunch, he lingered in the foyer of the spaceport's terminal instead of leaving. He used the opportunity to get a sandwich and a new mystery book for his padd. He also bought a new shirt at one of the kiosks, a deep blue that suited his eyes, as well as a tube of hair gel. He popped into a restroom for the two minutes required to change his appearance, stuffing his old shirt and the mostly full tube of gel into the bin on his way out. The last glimpse of himself in the mirror as he exited showed no sign of military demeanor. His hair in particular, with its carefully tousled spikes, greatly changed his look, but he took care to alter his body language too. When he returned to the waiting area, he sat with the other people awaiting arrivals. He people-watched—it had been a while since he'd seen so many varied people in one place—and made the sandwich last an hour as he pretended to read his novel.

He saw the ecstatic reunions of a few couples. It reminded him depressingly of his own lack of romantic entanglements. He had a firm rule of steering clear of shipmates, which greatly limited his field. He had been able to use shore leave to his own advantage a few times, but this ops mission was a rare opportunity. No one from _Enterprise_ was here to look over his shoulder—including Trip Tucker, with whom he'd spent a particularly awful shore leave tied up in a cellar. He'd sworn off trying to pick up dates with a coworker ever since, despite Tucker's good-natured teasing. Now, however, he had nothing but opportunity. Tucker, still aboard _Enterprise,_ couldn't ruin his fun, and Reed thought it unlikely in the extreme that Shran would care about Reed's whereabouts if Shran didn't actually need him for something—which was most of the time.

Well, he was working now. He'd have time later to find a suitable bar, find someone to buy him a drink. There was something...freeing...about covert ops. He was no longer Reed, but someone else entirely. Today, he was an uneducated worker on vacation on a pleasure planet. If something came his way, well, very nice. If not, that was fine too.

Reed wasn't surprised when, about an hour and a half after he'd left the shuttle, he caught sight of Shran walking briskly through the spaceport. He passed right by the arrivals lounge without even glancing Reed's way. Reed rose, then tailed him as unobtrusively as he could. How could anyone have thought that Shran would ever succeed in covert ops? The man's walk proclaimed arrogance and power. He was pure military. Giving him a backpack and a toolbox would do nothing to conceal that bearing. But despite the arrogance, there was something...well, noble about him. Reed happened to know Shran well enough to understand that real competence underlay that attitude. He hated to admit it, but if anyone had the right to be an arrogant bastard, it was Shran. He only hoped that Shran could deliver the goods and decrypt the data. Thanks to Shran, assuming he could be trusted, Reed now knew that the data chip was Andorian, not Vulcan. He wasn't sure what that meant, but it was probably important.

Reed tailed Shran to the taxi stand, staying well back. He was in no danger of losing Shran, although plenty of Andorians milled about. Shran's distinctive ramrod-straight back and swagger made it easy. Reed stood against the wall, communicator device pressed to his ear, pretending to take a call, while Shran stood in a queue. Reed, in his blue shirt and with his newly spiky hair, was in character: a confident, relaxed human man on vacation, ready to have fun, eyeing attractive fellow travelers as they eyed him, exchanging smiles when their eyes happened to meet. In the case or two when there was perhaps a bit too much interest and he feared actual contact, he would turn away, speaking in a low voice into the communications device, his body posture and sudden intentness on the call serving to ward off unwanted interest.

When Shran climbed into a taxi, Reed didn't follow. He'd found out what he wanted to know: Shran had a contact on the planet, and they hadn't sent a car for him. Shran was going to them, not decrypting the information on his own in the shuttle. Reed need only let Shran go about his business. If he had need, later, he could track Shran's whereabouts by accessing the records contained within the positioning chip concealed inside the padd—another of Tucker's improvements, and one that Reed was sure he'd forgotten to mention to Shran.

"Oh, I am sorry to hear that, Giles," he said blithely into the communications device, altering his accent to make it less high-end and more working class. "No, of course it's fine. No problem at all. Tomorrow, perhaps? Yes. Bye now." He folded it closed and let his eyes linger on those of the tall black human man who had been watching him.

He had several hours to kill, and although Shran had left the shuttle, he couldn't go back there in case Shran returned before the time limit was up. If Shran wanted to pretend he'd decrypted it in the shuttle, that was fine with Reed. He found himself smiling at the man looking at him. He'd learned at least one important thing in covert ops: if an opportunity to relax presented itself, take it. In this case, the perfect opportunity was standing a few meters away. The chance that the man gazing appreciatively at him was connected to their mission was infinitesimal; he even could provide an alibi for Reed if Shran managed to screw something up while he was off working on the encrypted data. After putting up with Shran for the better part of two days, Reed was ready for some interaction that had nothing to do with arrogant posturing.

As Shran himself had reminded him, he was on a world of decadence and sensation. And he was in character. He drew a deep breath in anticipation as he continued to hold the other man's gaze.

"Bollocks," he said, smiling more widely. "Don't you hate that?" he asked the man. "Calls and cancels, and me just in."

"Too bad," the man said sympathetically, setting down his single piece of luggage. Reed thought it was calf's-skin leather—beautifully, understatedly expensive. "Why don't you join me for dinner? I'd like the company. I'm heading for the Grand."

"Very posh," Reed said cheerfully, stepping toward the man. "A bit out of my league, though." He gave a deprecating laugh. "I'm staying in my ship, but I wanted a night out. First time on planet and all." His worn shoes, excellent quality but in need of a good cleaning, were left over from the jaunt to the office building. They marked him as working class, just as this tall man's fine luggage and elegantly cut jacket hinted at wealth.

"Well, let me buy you a drink in the hotel bar. This is my third business trip here, and I've found that the concierge rarely sends me astray. I think we ought to consult her, don't you?" The man extended a hand. He hadn't taken his eyes off Reed. "Philip. How do you do."

Reed took the hand and held onto it. He knew everything there was to know about Philip: a rich man on vacation propositioning a man lower in social status. He knew exactly what Philip wanted, and, he found, he was happy to give it to him.

"Graham," he identified himself in what was now Graham's voice, all London Town. "Nice to meet you, Philip." Their fingers stroked as Reed released Philip's hand. "That sounds lovely."

* * *

"Mmm," Reed said into the trilling communications device. He was still asleep. When it trilled again, he fumbled with it, then pressed it to his ear again. "Hello?" he tried, to no avail. He tried another button, then heard a voice. He'd finally hit the right key. "What?" he demanded testily.

"Reed? Is that you?" Shran sounded annoyed—but then again, Shran always sounded annoyed.

"Yes. Yes, it is." Reed rolled onto his side to face the beautiful man with whom he was in bed. The communication device had awakened both of them. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he was confident it was far more than the three hours Shran had mentioned. "Sorry, my shipmate," he told Philip, who responded by putting a hand on Reed's side and scooting closer. "No, I didn't see Giles after all. He canceled, so I made...other arrangements."

Philip nibbled his shoulder, then pushed Reed onto his back and began kissing his way down. "Get rid of him," Philip murmured.

"What are you talking about?" Shran demanded. "Oh. Oh! I understand. Someone else is there."

"That is exactly it. Yes." Reed closed his eyes as Philip reached his belly button and lingered there. He put his free hand on Philip's head and encouraged him lower. "Look, do you need me for anything? Because I'm rather busy."

"Your voice sounds different," Shran said suspiciously.

"Get used to it, gov," Reed informed him in his London accent. He'd learned long ago that the key to covert ops wasn't pretending to be someone else. It was actually _being_ someone else. He lifted the communications device away long enough to say, "There. Yes. Oh, yes." Warmth encircled him as Philip began to suck. He said to Shran, "Did you get the information you needed?"

"I did," Shran said. "I have a name and a local address."

"Mmm. That's good. Very good." Reed closed his eyes as Philip found a rhythm. His fingers tangled into Philip's dense, curly hair as the pleasure mounted. "Oh, yes. Good. Good is the word."

"I thought so." Shran sounded puzzled. "Are you all right?"

"Quite," Reed said as Philip's hand wandered up to stroke his belly, mouth still working. "I'm going to go now, if you don't mind. I can be back at the ship in two hours' time."

"That is acceptable," Shran said. "I have—"

Whatever he was going to say next was lost as Reed hung up on him. "Two hours," he told Philip.

Philip lifted his mouth. "Two hours ought to be long enough, don't you think?" he asked.

Reed coaxed Philip up so they pressed together, body to body, and then captured Philip's mouth. "I think so," he murmured.

* * *

There was a definite swagger in Reed's gait when he entered the shuttle. Philip had been more than he could have hoped for in a brief liaison—attentive and skilled, and the fact that the man was both handsome and rich hadn't hurt. As he'd been leaving, Philip had made it clear that he would be at the hotel for several more days. Apparently he'd impressed Philip as much as Philip had impressed him.

A shrill voice brought him back to reality. "What are you smirking at?"

"How well our mission is progressing," Reed responded without missing a beat but dropping the lower-class accent he'd adopted earlier.

Shran, ensconced in the copilot's chair with a glass of blue ale in his hand, had swung around at Reed's entrance and was scowling suspiciously at him. "Where have you been?" he snapped. "And who were you with? I hope you haven't blown our cover. And what have you done to your hair? I don't remember it sticking up like that when you left."

"The decryption must have yielded some good results if you're celebrating," Reed commented, deliberately sidestepping the questions as he made his way to the storage bin with the rations. He'd been quite active, off and on, for the last several hours, and he'd worked up a good appetite. He was so hungry that the dreadful meat loaf that Tucker liked so much might even taste halfway decent. "And I haven't blown our cover." He switched back to his London accent. "I was in character the whole time, I assure you. It had nothing to do with our mission. Speaking of which..." He returned to his normal voice. "Tell me what you found."

Shran stared at him for a long moment, as if deciding whether he would continue to grill Reed about his whereabouts and his change of appearance, or talk business. Reed was relieved when he went for the latter. "Yes, it did yield something," Shran said, "but nothing to waste good Andorian ale on."

Reed looked at him, quirking an eyebrow at the glass.

"I was waiting for you," Shran said in a brittle tone. "It's been more than two hours since I contacted you."

"Oh," Reed said, and turned away before Shran could see him grin. So Shran had been waiting for him, had he? And it had annoyed the Andorian enough that it had made him break out the booze. Really, there was no pleasing the man, but Reed was in too good a mood to let it bother him. He bit his lip to keep from snickering. Shran had told him to take advantage of the decadent planet they were on, and he had. Besides, he was sure that if anything urgent had come up, Shran would have contacted him again.

Reed began rummaging through the storage bin, looking for the shrimp scampi meal he knew was among the other, more mundane, selections. He was almost to the bottom of the stack when he glanced at the disposal slot next to the bin. The distinctive wrapper of a seafood meal was sticking out the slot.

He turned to face Shran "You ate the shrimp?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes. It was quite good. I developed a taste for it when Archer served it at a meal I had aboard your ship."

Reed didn't know what irritated him more—the fact that Shran had eaten the only ration of one his favorite seafood dishes, or that he'd brought the captain up again. He was really getting tired of hearing Archer's praises fall from Shran's lips. Yes, Archer was his superior officer, and as such, deserved respect, but it was as if Shran was comparing him to Archer all the time, and constantly finding Reed lacking. His appetite suddenly gone, and his good humor along with it, he sat down at an auxiliary console. "What did you find out?"

Shran reached behind him to the helm console for a padd. He held it out to Reed. "There was some information on the microchip concerning research at the facility. But we already knew there would be. Why else hide it in the ventilation system? Clearly it was there for someone to pick up."

"Someone like the repair technicians the Vulcan receptionist told us about." Reed accepted the padd and glanced at the files listed. The text being in Andorian, it meant nothing to him. He frowned at Shran and handed the padd back. He would have preferred to verify the information himself, but he'd have to take Shran's word for it. He hated having to trust Shran. "This could be very damaging in the wrong hands."

Shran nodded, all business now. "Yes. We already knew there was a leak. The microchip only proves it. But one of the files on the microchip included some information that, in all likelihood, wasn't supposed to be there."

Reed looked sharply at Shran. "What do you mean?"

"It's a personal log of one of the technicians." Shran leaned back in his chair, his mouth forming a sour moue of displeasure. "Andorian, unfortunately, but the file was generated at the same workstation as were the rest of the classified files on the chip."

Reed shook his head, even as he was impressed by the competence of Shran's contacts. It would take access to some sophisticated equipment to be able to compare file origins in such a manner. "That's too coincidental. Someone involved in espionage wouldn't make such a stupid mistake. It's more likely that file was planted with the rest to provide a suspect, just in case anyone like us came across it."

Shran smiled smugly at him. "Of course I realized that. Give me some credit, Lieutenant. But the lab technician did provide the name of the only other person who has been using that workstation."

Reed sat upright. Shran had interrogated the lab tech without letting him know—or be present? He opened his mouth to protest, then snapped it shut. He had to remind himself that Shran was in charge of this mission. At least he had told him about the interrogation. He just hoped Shran hadn't blown their cover in the process.

Shran must have read something of his concern in his face, for he said, "Don't worry, Lieutenant. After my contact decrypted the chip, I obtained access to the lab by saying I was checking that the ventilation system was working properly. The technician was quite talkative, actually. It didn't take much prompting to find out that only one other worker with the correct permissions has access to that part of the lab, and thus to the workstation where the research data was loaded onto the microchip." He took a deliberate sip of ale. "And don't bother protesting that the workstation accesses could be faked, or that literally hundreds of people work in the facility, and any one of them could sneak in and hack his or her way in. This is a high-security lab working on supersecret technology. Access to the workstations is by voice password and retinal scan. Users are automatically logged off if the machine detects no movement for more than two minutes. It also didn't take too much prompting to discover that the security protocols are ridiculously strict."

Reed was tempted to ask what type of prompting Shran had used to get the lab tech to talk. The Imperial Guard commander's first impulse would be strong-arm tactics, Reed was sure, but Shran wasn't behaving like he'd used brute force to obtain a confession. If he had, his face would be flushed deeper blue, righteousness radiating from every pore, as he'd related this news. Reed had seen Shran like that often enough to recognize it. No, right now Shran was acting pleased with himself, as if his cleverness should be commended. It was possible that the information had been coaxed out of the technician without his knowing, Reed supposed. When he wanted to be, Shran could be quite charming. He'd seen Shran do it with Archer on occasion.

"So who is this single other person with access to the workstation?" Reed asked.

Shran reached for another padd. Glancing at its screen for reference, although Reed was sure he'd committed it to memory—Shran did have a dramatic streak—he said, "Shian Thrashinar."

"Excuse me for saying this, but the name sounds Andorian."

"You're excused, and yes, it is." Shran's mouth twisted into a displeased frown. "No Vulcans worked in that part of the lab."

At least Shran didn't seem overly upset to find that the traitor they were seeking was one of his own people. Reed had expected a far more extreme example after Shran's protestations, while on the shuttle to the trade planet, that it couldn't possibly have been an Andorian. "Our next step, obviously, should be to find this Shian Thrashinar," Reed suggested.

Shran nodded. "My thought exactly. That's why I've contacted the port authority and filed our request to depart."

"What?" Reed said, more sharply than he had intended. Even though this was a covert mission that no one was supposed to know about, they couldn't take off at a moment's notice without letting Archer know they were heading off somewhere. At some point, they might need _Enterprise_'s assistance, which wouldn't be available if the starship was a sector away and ignorant of their location. That thought was quickly followed by another: He'd been hoping to get back to the Grand—and Philip. He reluctantly squashed that desire. He was too disciplined to duty to let a little fling, no matter how enjoyable, interfere with a mission. He could, however, regret that it wouldn't continue.

And why were they leaving anyway?

Shran's next words answered that question. "Shian is no longer on this planet. My informant tells me that he regularly travels between this world and one other. That's where we're going." He spun his chair to face the forward view port. "Well, get up here. Or am I going to have to take over your piloting duties? I expect our departure clearance at any moment."

Reed bolted forward from his chair. "Wait! We can't leave. Just because this Shian what's-his-name has left doesn't mean the person he's transferring the information to isn't here."

"I forgot to tell you," Shran said curtly. "My contact told me that the Vulcan receptionist is a member of the High Command. Nominally retired, but still useful in a surveillance capacity. When he showed her a picture of Shian, she confirmed that he was one of the Andorian techs servicing the heating and cooling system."

Forgot to tell him. Right. Shran more likely hadn't wanted to share the information unless it was absolutely necessary. In this case, it was, because Reed immediately made the connection and why they had to leave. "So Shian wasn't handing the microchip over to someone else. He found a way to get the information out of the facility without getting caught and then retrieve it later. But why did he leave the microchip we found behind?"

"I have no idea. Maybe that dried-up Vulcan scared him off. He'd have to sneak by her every time he wanted to retrieve data, or come up with a plausible excuse for being there. He couldn't do that on a regular basis without arousing suspicion." Shran shot him an icy glare over his shoulder. "When I told you to get up here, it wasn't a suggestion," he said in a deceptively mild tone.

"We can't go rushing off without letting Captain Archer know," Reed said hastily, invoking the one name that might give Shran pause. "_Enterprise_ is our backup. We may need their help later."

Reed waited as Shran considered what he'd said.

"Fine," the Andorian said at last. "Here are the coordinates." He scribbled on a padd and handed it to Reed. The coordinates were written not in Andorian but in a familiar trading creole—a thoughtful touch for someone presently so annoyed with him. "Get them to _Enterprise_—quietly, please. I assume you have a way to do that?"

"Yes. Coded message via the Boomer network. And don't ask how I know how to do that."

"Very well." Shran sat back and took a deep sip of Andorian ale. "Well?" He waved a hand. "Do it."

Reed mechanically composed a message including the coordinates from the padd on the com panel. His mind kept turning back to Philip, which was ridiculous. He hadn't realized the depth of his desperation for human touch and contact. He couldn't call Philip again, not so soon after leaving his hotel room, and it would appear odd to call and explain that he had to leave the planet for a while. Reed might do such a thing, but cheerful, clueless Graham wouldn't think of it. Plus there was always the remote chance that Philip was a spy. That made two reasons he couldn't call. He'd have to leave without a word.

"Sending the message to _Enterprise_ now," Reed told Shran. "And I'll send a few local messages, to conceal which one was the important one." He busied himself at the console, trying to swallow his regret that one of those messages wouldn't be going to Philip.

An indicator lit on the helm console. "There's our clearance to depart," Shran said, toying with his glass as Reed input commands and checked readouts. "I do hope I'm not putting you out. You act like you had some unfinished business on this planet."

Reed acknowledged the takeoff clearance. He hit the ignition and, at his deft touch on the controls, the shuttle began to ascend. "I was only taking your advice," he told Shran as he expertly guided the shuttle through the planet's atmosphere, following the bobbing string of flashing blue buoys.

"Oh?" Shran asked, leaning down to grab the bottle of ale by his chair. He poured in a generous few fingers, then replaced the bottle. "What advice did I give you?"

"You told me to go off and have fun, and you reminded me that this is a world of decadence and sensation."

"So it is," Shran said comfortably. "You just don't strike me as the kind of man to take that kind of advice."

The shuttle cleared the atmosphere. Reed had already input the coordinates to their next destination, and now he called them up. The farther they got from the planet, the easier he was finding it to verbally spar with Shran, even if it was about something that was none of the Andorian's business. He realized he was taking a perverse pleasure in shaking up Shran's impression of him. "Mmm. Well, it seems I am."

"Yes, it seems so." Shran lifted the glass to his nose and took a deep breath without sipping, enjoying the scent. "Was she very pretty? A human, of course."

"She was a he," Reed said matter-of-factly, wondering how Shran would react to this revelation. "And yes, very...pretty. He was a very pretty human."

Shran's antennae waved. He didn't seem at all fazed by Reed's remark. "Do forgive me if I offended by presuming. I know little of human mating rituals," he noted. Despite his words, he didn't sound at all sorry. In fact, he didn't really sound all that interested.

"It's less ritual and more custom." Reed let it go at that. He wasn't about to explain his preferences to someone he didn't particularly like, even if he did respect his abilities. He set the speed and engaged the autopilot. The shuttle gave a little jerk as the autopilot engaged, and Reed sat back. "We'll be there in ten hours," he announced.

"Mmm." Shran took a long sip. "Still, at least your social structure revolves around mated pairs. Andorians have four sexes, two with male characteristics, and two with female. Our social structure for mating revolves around the group of four. It makes things quite...complicated."

"I can only imagine," Reed murmured. Why was Shran telling him this? Maybe Shran was trying to prove Andorian superiority once again. Or maybe he was just trying to be friendly. If the latter was the case, he might as well take advantage of it. He gestured at Shran's glass of ale. "Do you have another glass?"

"I was wondering when you'd ask."

### CHAPTER 3

Their ten-hour trip had been relatively peaceful. A couple of glasses of Andorian ale had mellowed Reed, as had a meal of meat loaf and green beans. The alcohol had also expanded Shran's strangely magnanimous mood. But now, a half hour out from their destination, they were embroiled in an argument. Even though Reed reminded himself once again that Shran was in charge of the mission, the commander's plan for when they reached the planet was so impractical that he had to protest. The most frustrating thing about the argument was that, when presented with a more viable plan, Shran wouldn't go for it. Reed couldn't help but think that was because the better plan hadn't been the stubborn Andorian's idea.

Some time after he'd enjoyed the ale, Reed had called up information about the planet, Bliisilgril, in the shuttle's database. What he had found made him realize it would be hard for them to blend in. It was sparsely inhabited, for one thing. Newcomers would stand out like the proverbial sore thumb.

Most of the population was involved in agrarian pursuits, little more than subsistence farming, to judge from the stats. Practically none of the crops grown were shipped off-world, and there were no major trading ports or cities. Bliisilgril wasn't even a colony of another world. People of several species lived there, but it wasn't prosperous and didn't have any valuable raw materials that might make anyone want to claim it. Only poor, desperate people settled there. And Reed could not figure out what Shian Thrashinar, their quarry, might be doing, making trips from the bustling trade planet to this obscure outback.

So obscure was the planet, in fact, that he and Shran could hardly claim to be selling the newest technological farming advances, as Shran had proposed. The population couldn't afford such expensive items. What salesmen in their right minds would travel to such a desolate place, knowing there would be no profit?

It was also hardly the place a person like Shian Thrashinar, who was employed in high-level technology—or theft of defensive weapon secrets—would call home, Reed mused. But assuming that Shian had a good excuse for a visit, like family there, it was a very good place to unobtrusively transfer classified information, although Reed personally thought that transferring it to another party while on the trade planet would have been a far better bet.

In countering Shran's proposal to pretend to sell high-tech farming equipment, Reed had suggested they fake engine trouble. They could set down near the most populous area and look for Shian while they were supposedly seeking replacement parts for the shuttle. The biggest of the cities, with a population of about three thousand, would be the best place to start.

"I'm only going to say this one more time," Shran said from between clenched teeth as he paced the deck behind the helm control area. "If we say we have sophisticated technology available, that will take us right to whoever Shian is giving the data to. There's a good chance defense technology isn't all they are interested in."

"We don't know that. Besides, it's not feasible," Reed retorted, refusing to give ground because Shran's idiotic idea could ruin the mission. "We don't have any farming equipment on board—" He held up a hand to fend off what he knew would be Shran's response; they'd been over it several times before. "Who would believe us? Salesmen without product samples or even a catalog? And defense technology is very different from farming tech."

A soft chime from the helm console sounded, alerting Reed that it was time to take back control from the autopilot. He got to his feet from where he'd been sitting at an auxiliary station. As he brushed past Shran, he muttered disgustedly, "If I wanted to argue all the time, I would have brought Commander Tucker along."

"You should have," Shran called after him. "He, at least, would have something in common with me."

Reed grimaced as he sat down at the helm controls. He knew what Shran was referring to. Tucker's sister had died in the Xindi attack on Earth. It had been a couple of years ago, but Reed remembered wondering at the time whether Tucker, who had been devastated, would ever come to grips with that loss. Nothing Reed had done had helped—just the opposite, in fact. Tucker had rebuffed every attempt to console him. Tucker had recently told him that Shran had lost an older sibling in Andoria's decades-long conflict with Vulcan. Apparently the commonality of familial grief had formed some sort of bond between Tucker and Shran.

Reed didn't understand it. He'd spent years working with Tucker, and thought he knew the man. It had taken a while to get used to the engineer's style, but Reed had come to consider Tucker his best friend. Then along came Shran, and in a very short time, he had formed some sort of emotional connection with Tucker. It was enough to make Reed seethe with jealousy—if he were the jealous type.

He snorted. When he'd been assigned to this mission, he'd thought that he and Shran might have common ground by virtue of their covert ops experiences. Well, he still had doubts about Shran's experience in that area, and they definitely hadn't found much to agree on during this mission.

He studiously ignored Shran as the man slid into the copilot's seat next to him. As the silence stretched out, he sneaked a glance at him from the corner of his eye. The man was looking back at him with a bland expression.

"I've decided to take your advice," Shran said. "We'll set down near the largest community...to make repairs on our engine."

Reed, not sure what to make of the sudden change in Shran's demeanor, decided to keep any wisecracks to himself. There was no sense in giving Shran a reason to change his mind yet again. The planet was looming in the forward viewport, so he simply nodded and input the proper commands to bring the shuttle in over the biggest city. "I didn't see anything in the information about this planet about landing protocols," he commented.

Shran sneered. "They don't have enough traffic to require protocols. Just pick a spot and land."

Despite focusing on his piloting duties, Reed was able to take a good look at the planet as they got closer. Several small bodies of water—too large to be lakes, too small to be oceans—dotted its surface, which was made up primarily of what appeared to be heavily forested land. From this distance, he couldn't see any open spaces that might indicate large agricultural operations, which only reinforced his belief that most of the farming was on a small scale. There were no deserts that he could see, which was good. He didn't particularly care for hot, dry climates. The problem, he realized, was going to be finding a clearing big enough to put the shuttle down. Perhaps when they got closer, he would spot a place fairly near the city, but far enough away to afford some privacy.

A shrill klaxon jerked his gaze back to the helm control panel.

"What is it?" Shran, suddenly alert, asked.

"Short-range scan alarm," Reed responded tersely. He checked a screen on the helm console. "There are two vessels coming up from the surface on an intercept course."

"This planet's government isn't big enough or strong enough to have a defense force," Shran said. He settled back into his chair, outwardly calm once again. "It must be a private concern. They'll scan us and veer off when they see we're no threat."

Reed split his attention between piloting and watching the screen. After a few moments, he said, "They're maintaining course and speed." He peered out the forward viewport. Pinpricks in the distance resolved into two identical vessels approaching the shuttle head-on. He checked the screen again. "If they maintain their course, they're going to pass on either side of us."

"They want to take a look at us, eh?" Shran murmured. Despite the soft tone, Reed could tell that Shran was tense, aware of the potential danger presented by the oncoming ships.

The two ships passed by at high speed, keeping the shuttle between them.

"Old single-person fighters," Reed commented. "I saw some of them once, parked at the landing area at Rigel X."

"They're armed, then."

"Maybe not," Reed said. "If they were bought by someone who needed them for transportation, quick jaunts around the planet and the like—" He broke off as the information on the screen showed that the vessels had turned and were coming back from behind.

"Or to get rid of nosy intruders," Shran said just as the shuttle's hull rang with the impact of weapon fire.

"Bloody hell!" Reed sent the shuttle in a steep dive toward the planet. They'd been struck only a glancing blow, but he wasn't going to take any chances. The deck tilted precariously before the inertial dampeners could compensate.

Shran, caught off guard by the maneuver, had been tossed from his chair. "They're shooting at us!" he cried as he pulled himself back up.

"Tell me something I don't know!" Reed responded sharply. He slapped a button on the comm panel to open a broadband frequency, all the while keeping the shuttle zigging and zagging as it raced toward the planet much faster than he would have liked. "Hostile vessels—please cease fire. We mean you no harm."

As if in answer, more blasts from the pursuing ships struck the shuttle, this time making it shake so hard that Reed could imagine rivets popping from the hull plating.

"As if talking to them was going to work," Shran observed sarcastically.

"I had to give them a chance," Reed pointed out. "Now that I've asked, and they haven't complied, we can justify shooting back. If you could just—?"

A wolfish grin appeared on Shran's face when he understood what Reed was requesting. He punched some buttons on the panel in front of his copilot's seat, and several screens lit up. "A phase cannon. How quaint! But we must make do with what we have." He input commands, and Reed could feel a new set of vibrations in the deck as the cannon came online.

Another fusillade struck the shuttle. A panel at the auxiliary station behind Reed exploded, showering him with sparks. "Shran! Shoot now, before they take out our cannon!" he yelled, ducking and holding up one arm to ward off the sparks as he frantically tried to control the suddenly unresponsive craft with his other hand. That last hit had done something to the helm system.

"My pleasure," Shran growled.

Reed felt the shuttle buck twice with the power surge to the phase cannon. Busy trying to keep the shuttle on an even keel, he couldn't spare a glance at the screen displaying their pursuers, but Shran's shout of victory told him that he'd scored at least one hit.

"That takes care of one," he heard Shran say.

Reed coughed as smoke began to fill the cabin area. The automatic fire suppression system must have been damaged too, he realized. Maybe he should have told Shran to put out whatever was burning before firing on their attackers. Then another blast hit them, strong enough that he had to hold onto the helm console to keep from being thrown from his chair, and he realized they might be dead by now if Shran hadn't opened fire when he did. He didn't know if the shuttle could have withstood the combined fire of two attackers.

"Hurry up, Shran! I'm having trouble keeping this thing in the air!"

For indeed they were flying through air now. The cold vacuum of space had given way to the planet's atmosphere. The friction against the shuttle's hull was making the front of the vessel glow red. It was also making it even harder to fly. Reed had to constantly adjust settings, compensating, trying to keep the shuttle from spinning out of control. Something in the helm and navigation systems had been severely compromised. The ride was too rough for just atmospheric interference and a haphazard flight path to cause. It was all Reed could do to keep the shuttle from plummeting like a stone now that the planet's gravity was involved.

He felt a hand on his shoulder but didn't dare take his eyes from his controls. "Steady, Lieutenant!" he heard Shran say. "One more shot ought to take care of our problem."

Again he felt the deck buck beneath his feet, but almost immediately another bone-jarring shock ran through the hull. The interior lights went out but, somehow, there was still power to the sluggish helm controls.

"Got him!" Shran said unnecessarily for, even as busy as he was, Reed registered flames consuming the other vessel as it streaked by them from behind and started the long fall to the planet below.

Shran didn't waste time gloating. He hurried to the rear of the shuttle, grabbed a fire extinguisher, and began smothering the fire at the auxiliary console.

The cessation of heat on the back of Reed's neck was a welcome relief, but a small one. Despite the trouble he was having with the helm, he was distracted by how they'd wound up in this predicament. There was no reason they should have been attacked. "Someone knew we were coming here, and why," he ground out.

"Your supposedly coded message to _Enterprise_ probably tipped them off," Shran said as he shut off the fire extinguisher.

The scenario Shran had painted was extremely unlikely, but Reed couldn't spare time to argue. He tried shunting commands through other systems, but despite all the work Tucker had done, the shuttle's systems weren't as sophisticated as _Enterprise'_s. A glance at the viewport indicated they were still approaching the planet at a steep angle, and much too fast. He was going to have to bring the nose up if they had any chance at survival.

"We're going to hit hard," Reed warned Shran. "Brace yourself."

Then they were flashing past treetops, a dizzying blur of greens and browns below them even as Reed tapped down their velocity at the sluggish console. So much for finding a clearing, Reed thought. He'd be happy to simply walk away from this landing. One treetop, much taller than the rest, smacked the shuttle's undercarriage, making it pitch alarmingly to port. Reed actually found this encouraging, for they were finally slowing down.

Reed had given up using the control panel's instruments to search for a place to land. Instead, he was desperately looking through the viewport for an open spot. Not that he'd be able to actually land the shuttle, as fried as the controls were, but at least he could aim in a general direction. Unfortunately, he couldn't see anything even vaguely suitable.

A line of thick-trunked trees much taller than the rest appeared in the shuttle's flight path, and he couldn't see a way to get through them. It was like an impenetrable wall, for the shuttle was too wide to dodge between them, even if the controls had been fully operational.

As the massive trees blocked out the sky, Reed suddenly wished things had worked out differently, that he was back with Philip at the Grand Hotel while Shran was off playing secret agent somewhere. Instead, he was here with Shran, and they were going to die.

* * *

"I don't know why Archer insisted such a puny specimen of his species assist me on this mission," Shran said.

Reed, sitting slumped with his back against one of the bulkheads, let his eyes flutter closed as Shran activated a medical scanner. Shran must have found it in with the medical supplies when he'd gotten the painkiller he'd just given him. They'd survived the crash. Good. That was good. Probably.

"If I'm reading this correctly," Shran said, "you've sustained a concussion." The scanner whirred as he took more readings. "No broken bones. And I don't think you've damaged any internal organs." He snapped the scanner shut. "Other than your brain, that is."

"Great," Reed muttered. The painkiller must have kicked in, because he was lucid enough to be irritated by Shran's crack about him being a puny specimen of humanity.

If anything, Shran should be thanking him for saving his life. There weren't many pilots skilled enough to pull off the stunt he had. Definitely Archer, who was the best pilot he knew, and Travis Mayweather, who was something of a daredevil. But then again, luck had played a big part. Sideswiping that one treetop had given him the idea of ricocheting off the massive tree trunk that was going to stop them. He'd timed the moment just right, angling in so that the prow of the shuttle, instead colliding head-on, had grazed the tree and been redirected, much like a stone skipped across a pond's surface. He had glimpsed an open space just past that tree as the ship had bounced off, slipping by the obstruction, and had felt a surge of hope that they might have a chance of surviving. Of the actual landing itself, he had no recollection.

He tried to push himself up straighter, but the movement caused a fierce lance of pain to shoot through his skull. He held still until the pounding lessened. With his eyes still closed, he asked, "How long was I out?"

"Not quite an hour," Shran said.

"What about—?"

"As far as I can tell, both fighters were damaged severely. They probably landed much like we did. Which is to say, they crashed. The best I can tell, we're a good three days' walk from the city where we wanted to land."

"Survivors?" Reed asked.

"Unlikely," Shran responded. "Both burned. Probably oxygen explosions."

One small knot of tension in Reed's gut lessened. They wouldn't have to worry about their pursuers for the time being, only whomever had sent them. He heard Shran move away, and decided to risk opening his eyes. Without moving his head, he let his gaze roam the interior of the shuttle. Wisps of smoke drifted about. The auxiliary panel across from him was a charred mess. He shifted his eyes to see Shran fiddling with something at the helm controls. More padding had come out of the pilot's chair, Reed noticed, and wires were hanging out under the main console. A variety of tools were scattered about. Shran must have been working on repairing something before he'd regained consciousness.

"How—" Reed winced at the loudness of his own voice. He tried again, in a softer tone. "How bad is it?"

"Bad," Shran replied without looking up from his work. After a few moments, he flung the tool he'd been using to the deck. "I've just ascertained that communications are totally down. And that includes the universal translator, as you've already noticed."

Shran was right, he realized. He dimly recalled that he'd told Shran that he didn't speak Andorian, and right now, Shran was speaking in English. Very carefully, Reed managed to push himself up straighter. He was panting by the time he finished, but at least it didn't feel like the small of his back was about to break in two any more. "It's lucky you speak such excellent English," he rasped.

"Luck has nothing to do with it."

Reed decided not to pursue that line of questioning. "What else?" he demanded. "And can I have some water, please?"

"Of course. I should have thought of that." Shran moved to the back of the shuttle, stepping over debris and the scattered tools. "Helm is off-line. Propulsion is off-line. Life support is off-line, but we're getting fresh air. I pried the hatch open. Oh, and scanning capability is questionable. It's operating on reserve power. Our handheld units could probably do better."

Reed shifted slightly to look to the side, where the hatch was located. He hadn't noticed that the door was wide open, but now he could identify a slight breeze and the earthy scent of a wooded area. That must have been some blow to the head if he hadn't noticed those things sooner, but he didn't remember hitting his head. When Shran returned with a glass of water, he took it gratefully, for he did remember coughing when the cabin was filling with smoke, and his throat was parched. The water was tepid, and it tasted faintly of Andorian ale. Shran probably hadn't rinsed the glass out.

"You shouldn't drink too much too quickly," Shran advised, hastily taking back the glass.

Shran's warning was too late. The water had hit Reed's stomach, which was now threatening to send the liquid back the way it had come. He squeezed his eyes shut, one hand over his mouth and the other over his midsection, as he tried to quell the rising queasiness by sheer force of will.

"Nausea is a common occurrence with head injuries, I believe," Shran remarked. He reached down and grabbed Reed by the arm, helping him to his feet. They made it outside the shuttle before Reed, falling to his knees, retched up the contents of his stomach.

"Wouldn't want to clean that up inside, would we?" Shran asked as Reed, still kneeling, wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.

Reed didn't have the energy to even glare at the other man. What he wouldn't give to just curl up right here and go to sleep. There was the matter of the vomit on the ground in front of him, but right now he hurt so badly and was so tired, he didn't care if he pitched forward into it.

"Ah-ah, Lieutenant."

Why didn't Shran just shut up and leave him alone? His eyes closed, and he felt himself falling forward. All he wanted was some sleep—

"Let's get you back in the shuttle, where I can keep an eye on you while I effect repairs."

Reed felt himself hoisted up. He laughed feebly as he realized Shran had thrown him over his shoulder. It did no good at all for his headache, but strangely, his back felt better. The Andorian must be stronger than he looked. _I'd like to see him try this with Captain Archer,_ Reed thought muzzily, chuckling again.

"That's odd," he heard Shran mutter as the Andorian placed him on one of the two sleeping cots in the rear of the shuttle. "I would have thought you'd be angry about being injured, not laughing."

Then a hypospray hissed against his neck, and Reed was blessedly oblivious again.

* * *

The pain in his head had retreated to a dull ache when Reed woke. On his back on the cot, he could see forward to the main viewport. It was dark outside. Low-level emergency lighting inside enabled him to see that Shran wasn't at the helm console or either of the auxiliary stations. Wondering where the man was, he slowly pushed himself up to a sitting position, swinging his feet onto the deck. Assaulted by a wave of dizziness, he shut his eyes, tightly gripping the edge of the cot with his hands, until it passed.

"Feeling better?" came the annoying voice he'd heard far too often in the last few days. Shran lay on the other cot, farther back in the shuttle. Reed could just see the white of his hair.

Reed inhaled deeply, taking stock of himself. He was surprised to find that he was feeling better. "Yes, I am," he responded.

"You should." Shran got to his feet and snagged the medical scanner from a work surface. Activating it, he said, "You've been out for ten hours."

Reed almost bolted to his feet. Shran must have put a sedative in that last hypospray. It was nothing that Doctor Phlox hadn't done to him, usually when he'd been trying to sneak out of sickbay. But it was imperative that he begin repairs so they could continue their mission, or at least salvage what was left of it. Since Shran wasn't familiar with the shuttle's systems—and Reed didn't know whether the other man had any background in engineering—the time he'd wasted under sedation could have been used to fix something.

Still, he'd learned in the last few days that it would also be useless to argue with Shran. Arguing only prolonged whatever he was trying to accomplish, so he waited impatiently as Shran scanned him.

"Your condition does not seem to have worsened," Shran said at last. "Would you care to try drinking something again?"

"Yes." Reed licked his lips, which were dry and cracked. "I'll take it a little more slowly this time."

Shran smiled and fetched a glass of water. He handed it to Reed, taking care to make sure the other man had a good grip on the glass before releasing his own. As Reed took a sip, he wondered why Shran was being so solicitous. Could it be that the man had actually been worried about him? Or maybe, he thought sarcastically, Shran didn't want to explain losing both the shuttle and an officer to Archer. He'd owe Archer big time if that happened, and Reed knew Shran didn't like to be in debt to anyone.

Reed took another sip. So far, his stomach was behaving, but he didn't want to push his luck. He lowered the glass from his lips and cradled it in his hands. If Shran was in a giving mood, well, best take advantage of it. "Can you help me over to the head?" he asked.

Shran's antennae stretched out as he tilted his head in confusion.

"The lavatory," Reed clarified with a gesture to the restroom cubicle, which made Shran's antennae return to their usual, slightly curled position.

Shran took the glass from Reed as he stood. "I don't believe I've heard it called that before."

There was an awkward moment as they both tried to reach around the other's shoulders simultaneously. They finally settled on a position with Shran's arm around Reed's shoulder and Reed's arm around Shran's waist, even though Shran was a bit shorter than Reed. Reed's head spun as they started moving. Strangely, he couldn't feel the Andorian's body heat through the fabric of his shirt. Of course, he realized: Andorians lived on an ice moon. They had low body temperatures. To Shran, Reed probably felt like a furnace.

"On old Earth sailing ships," Reed explained as they moved toward the cubicle, "there was usually a hole in the deck in the forward part of the ship—the head—where sailors could relieve themselves directly into the ocean. The terminology carried over." Out of breath, Reed clutched at the head's door when they reached it. "This is fine, thank you."

"I'll be working right out here," Shran promised.

Reed resisted the urge to smile at Shran's ridiculous comment. No doubt it was meant in all sincerity—he hadn't said it sarcastically—but the very notion of Shran hovering outside, waiting for Reed to use the toilet, was somehow incredibly amusing.

As long as he was in the head, Reed took an analgesic and washed his face, but he looked as unkempt as he felt. He had a few days' worth of stubble that made him look decidedly unmilitary. Luckily, he felt far less nauseated; he thought he could try food. When he emerged from the cubicle, he made his way to the food store and found a nutrition bar and a bottle of water.

In the few minutes he'd been gone, Shran had turned the lights up and had rolled the folded cots out of the way. "I hope you've been working on repairs," Reed said.

Shran grunted as he sat in the copilot's chair, his usual spot. "Yes, but I also scouted this area. There's nothing out there in the twelve-kilometer radius between us and the nearest settlement except trees and more trees, according to the scanner readings."

Reed sank into the pilot's chair with relief. "Hopefully, that means nobody saw exactly where we came down. If we had been, I expect we would have had visitors by now. As it is, whoever sent those fighters after us may not be aware of what happened." He unwrapped the bar and took a small bite. Despite its blandness, the taste exploded on his tongue, and he had to take a small sip of water.

"Possible but unlikely," Shran noted. "The most cursory analysis of the two ships' debris will reveal they were shot down. The phase cannon signature is unmistakable. This does mean that if anyone does happen to find us, they may want to shoot first and ask questions later."

"Lovely," Reed groaned. He tried another bite and was pleased when it tasted almost normal.

"I took the precaution of setting up perimeter sensors," Shran informed him with a wave at the control console. "Anyone who approaches within five hundred meters of the shuttle will trip them." He smiled. "I have to hand it to your Commander Tucker. I really didn't expect to find this poor excuse of a space vessel stocked with such fine equipment. He did a very thorough job of outfitting it for every contingency."

First Archer, now Tucker. Despite Shran's lack of trust of humans several years ago, lately it seemed as if he was turning into a one-Andorian admiration society, at least of certain humans. Reed didn't count himself among them, and Shran's assumption that Tucker was the one who had arranged for everything in the shuttle, including the perimeter sensors, only proved it.

"That was my idea," Reed said shortly, abruptly rewrapping his half-eaten bar and thrusting it in his pocket. One arm went out from under him as he attempted to lever himself to his feet. Shran was instantly by his side, a supportive hand ready. Reed summoned a faint smile. "Thanks, but I can make it by myself. I did make it all the way over here from the head."

"You really should be resting," Shran said, but he made no move to keep Reed from getting to his feet.

Reed didn't know which was more annoying—Shran when he was being his typical egotistical self, or this unexplained concern and gentleness. Whatever it was, he shouldn't be wasting time thinking about it. There were more important things to take care of. "I have to see what we need to do to get this thing flying again," he said, both an explanation to Shran and motivation for himself to get moving.

He made his way to the diagnostic console near the hatch. Shran followed him the entire way. Perhaps the Andorian thought he might pass out again, and was waiting to catch him. Really, he was feeling much better now, although a bit unsteady. Having had experience with concussions before, however, he knew he would soon tire. He sank onto his knees and removed the cover with only a brief struggle. "No power to the helm," he noted as he checked the displays.

"I could have told you that."

Reed let out a sigh and sat back on his heels. "Why don't you tell me exactly what you've fixed."

Shran, silhouetted against the viewport, shrugged. "Not much. I'm not familiar with the systems on this vessel, although there are similarities to certain systems on Imperial Guard ships."

"Form follows function," Reed murmured.

"Exactly. I've restored life support."

Reed waited, but Shran didn't say anything else. "That's it?" Reed asked, incredulity overcoming his achy lethargy. They didn't even _need_ life support at the moment. They could breathe the air on this planet. "That's all you fixed in ten hours?"

A hiss came from the other man. "As I told you, I am not familiar with this vessel. But that did not deter me. Thanks to my lengthy and costly education, I am capable of making sense of the most badly written instruction manual. No, the problem is not that I couldn't fix anything. It's that we need to find or make replacement parts for just about everything in this useless piece of space junk!"

Shran's voice had risen as his outburst progressed. This was more like the Shran he'd come to know, Reed thought. All bluster and belligerence—and nothing ever his fault. And yet Shran had a point. There weren't replacements for anything major on board. They didn't have much more than a tool kit, really. If they couldn't cannibalize parts from one system to fix another, they were in a tight spot.

As calmly as he could, Reed asked, "What do we need?"

Shran seemed mollified, for his next words were considerably less vehement. "A warp engine plasma inductor for this class of vessel, a number of relays for the propulsion system, new circuits for the helm controls. And that's only if we can get this broken-down ship to fly. We also need a new junction box for the power regulator—"

"What about the phase cannon?" Reed interrupted.

Shran paused in his recitation to stare at him. "I have no idea. Without power to operate it, I haven't checked. Why?"

"I'm a tactical officer. I think about those things."

For the first time since they'd crashed, he heard Shran laugh. "Archer was right to send you with me, I see now. Not only did you perform the fanciest piece of flying I've seen in a long time, but you don't allow yourself to become focused on one thing when so much needs to be done."

Fanciest piece of flying? Shran was complimenting him? Reed found himself oddly flattered; Shran did not compliment lightly, and he'd been yelling at Reed just a moment ago. He reached into the housing of the unit in front of him and pulled out the unit's data padd. The padd, at least, seemed to have survived the crash, for its screen lit up when he activated it. "Let's make a list. Then we can cross-check what's needed with what we have and see if there is anything on board we use. We should start with the engine."

"Agreed," Shran said, taking the padd from him. He began inputting information, but he hadn't been at it more than a minute when he started laughing again.

"What?" Reed asked.

"It seems our story about having engine trouble is no longer a fabrication. Chances are we're going to have to go into a settlement to seek materials."

Reed chuckled weakly at the irony. It was going to be one hell of a walk.

### CHAPTER 4

"No, if you would just—"

"I am."

"You're not. To the left, Shran. The _left!_"

"Your instructions are unclear, Lieutenant. I am disengaging this unit, as you directed me, but it is stuck."

"My directions are unclear because you are blocking my line of sight! And it's not stuck. You have to lift it up and to the left. No! Oh, for god's sake. _Lift it!_"

Shran threw down the wrench he'd been using to release the engine's exterior housing. "I look forward to the time your health has improved," he said with a sneer. "Then you can move to the right or to the left, as it pleases you, and I can put my feet up and continually reorganize computer files!"

Reed resisted the urge to either remove the unit himself, or grab the wrench and whack Shran with it. "You're the one who told me that I couldn't do any of the heavy lifting until my concussion had healed," he pointed out, striving to make his tone reasonable. "And you're the one who told me that you pride yourself on your ability to do any sort of work that needs doing, as an example to your crew, no matter how demeaning. Presumably you only meant that you would do it if no one was around for you to boss around."

"I boss people around for a living, and my crew are happy to follow someone with of my record, breeding, and stature," Shran said coldly.

"Forgive me. I am merely ungrateful, I see that now. I am very glad you are willing to _remove the unit!_" Reed retorted, practically spitting the last few words as his patience frayed.

Shran glared at him. Reed glared back. A long, long moment stretched, but neither would bend—until, with an exhalation that spoke volumes, Shran turned back to the unit and disengaged it in a single movement, a lift and twist performed at precisely the correct speed and angle, as though he did this every day. He set the unit down, propping it against the exterior of the shuttle.

"Very well done," Reed said, keeping all irony from his voice.

"Thank you." Shran sounded a bit breathless. "It is quite heavy."

"It's lined with lead."

"That would explain it."

"Perhaps I should have mentioned that."

"No. It's fine." Shran rubbed his back, belying his words, as he took a moment to glance around at the trees surrounding the shuttle. "On our way home, we can stop for a massage. Orion slave girls, I think. Unless you prefer something else to Orion slave girls."

Reed did not take the bait. Shran had been making pointed remarks along those lines for the past few days. "My back has not gone out."

"It will, Lieutenant. It will," Shran said sadly.

They both surveyed the shuttle's exterior. Two days' worth of repairs, and all they'd done was disassemble large sections of it. Their goal was to cannibalize what they could to repair the most crucial systems, then walk to town to purchase the rest of what they needed so the shuttle would fly again—if not in space, then at least in atmosphere.

Reed had declared communications a priority on the basis that they wouldn't need to head for a larger settlement if they could ping an orbiting communications buoy to send a message. Then they could sit and wait. In fact, they could just sit and wait without communications, because _Enterprise,_ at least in theory, knew where they were, and as soon as Archer figured out something was amiss, he'd ride to the rescue. But Reed would much prefer to complete his mission than to be ignominiously rescued. He also had to admit that he didn't want to think of what Shran would have to say if that happened. Archer as heroic savior figure? Reed would look terrible in comparison, and Shran didn't need another excuse to wax poetic about Archer's virtues—and Reed's shortcomings.

"Now that we've removed the unit, we need to repair the circuitry in the housing where it connects," Reed said. "I think I can do that. It's all fiddly work, quite small, nothing heavy."

"Nothing lead lined, for example," Shran said pointedly.

"Exactly. Nothing like that."

Shran sighed and stepped back. "First thing after dinner, then?"

"Is it time to eat?" Reed hadn't realized so much time had passed. He gazed up into the sky, as though the sun would tell him what time it was, but the photoperiod here wasn't in sync with his body clock. It felt like it was midmorning, not eighteen hundred hours. "Roots and berries today? Or would you like to divide a meat loaf dinner?" They had decided to ration food, because they had no idea how long they'd be stranded. Luckily the planet had quite a bit of edible plant life, if they weren't too picky, and they had enough nutrition bars to last them a good, long time. The prepackaged dinners were really the only thing in question. They'd decided to divide one a day and stick to bars and whatever they could scrounge otherwise. Fortunately, they had been at it such a short time that neither yet felt deprived.

"Meat loaf," Shran said promptly. "Allow me." He scrambled into the shuttle.

Reed absently kicked the lead-lined unit that had caused them so much trouble. It made a low thud. He leaned over and experimentally rocked it back and forth. It was indeed heavy—quite staggeringly heavy for its size. If he tried to lift it unaided, he'd do more than throw his back out. Shran was clearly far stronger than his slight Andorian frame would imply.

Well, Shran was just full of surprises. For example, right now, Shran was making a tuneless noise that might be humming or whistling while he prepared the meat loaf dinner: domestic Shran. He gamely fixed systems, sometimes on his own but sometimes under Reed's direction: technical Shran. When they knocked off work in the evening, he would tell stories of his days in the Imperial Guard, some hilarious and some tragic, but all of them entertaining: personable Shran, the version of himself that, Reed suspected, he used to bond his crew together. They weren't in the correct situation for him to see warrior Shran, but that was probably the version that Shran thought of as his true self. And they certainly weren't in the correct situation for him to meet civilian Shran, the one who had friends or lovers or other relationships that didn't involve issuing orders. Of course, Reed saw plenty of arrogant Shran, which appeared to be his default setting.

One thing was clear, though: if there was a real Shran in there somewhere, a complex, nuanced person, he hadn't shown himself to Reed. Not yet, anyway. Reed needed to see more facets before he could construct that Shran, and Shran either was not going to show them to Reed, or these facets did not exist. Reed thought the latter eventuality unlikely, for he was fairly positive that Shran and Archer had bonded.

To his surprise, he had discovered that he found Shran interesting, and he filed away any shred of personal information that Shran let drop, no matter how slight: where he'd been deployed for his first mission, how beautiful the grounds of his family estate were, why he'd decided to join the Imperial Guard, which were his favorite packaged dinners. Yet among all these tossed-off tidbits, Shran withheld himself. The stories he told did not revolve around genuine emotion but around reaction to events. If Reed could find the key to Shran...well, first, he'd be better able to control him, because Reed could then manipulate him. But maybe he'd also stop being annoyed at Shran being Shran.

He didn't want to admit that there might be another reason he found Shran so interesting. It seemed that his encounter with Philip—after what Reed admitted was a rather lengthy deprivation—had awakened him, and he admitted to himself that he was shallow enough to enjoy Shran's change in demeanor, which included remarks of appreciation and respect, as well as outright complimentary flattery. He found himself looking at Shran when he thought Shran wasn't paying attention. He wasn't sure he found Shran attractive in the sense that he found Philip attractive. Shran, even by Andorian standards, wasn't drop-dead gorgeous. But he had qualities Reed definitely appreciated: he was smart, he could think on his feet, and he liked to take command. Of course, in the minus column were Shran's arrogance and his insufferable superiority. Even if Reed broke his cardinal "no colleagues" rule and engaged in a dalliance with Shran, it would not end well. And although usually it didn't hurt to look, in this case, Reed rather thought it did. It bothered him that he looked anyway.

He absently rocked the lead-lined unit as he pushed away the thoughts. He needed to focus on the mission. It hadn't escaped him that he was withholding, just as Shran was. He sidestepped all of Shran's endless, poking questions, ostensibly presented in all innocence, about certain aspects of his own life. It suddenly struck him that Shran sought the key to him, just as he sought the key to Shran. One of them was going to have to break first by answering a question in all honesty instead of deflecting it and then changing the subject. Reed hadn't wanted to open up, because he didn't want to admit attraction—either to himself or to Shran.

"Meat loaf," Shran called.

Reed took his hand off the heavy unit. "Coming," he responded.

Talk at dinner focused on repairs—namely, how badly they were going. The engine could be repaired if they had replacement parts, but Reed had exhausted all his ideas for building such replacement parts by cannibalizing other bits of the ship. And even if they had the parts to effect repairs, they would only be able to fly low, within the atmosphere. The chassis was breached in two places. They would need large sheets of metal to cover the holes, and unless they could repair it, the ship simply wasn't space worthy. The upside was that Shran had fixed the life support system, so if they could somehow weld metal over the holes to seal them, they would be able to pressurize the cabin.

"Perhaps we ought to switch tactics," Reed said, setting his empty plate on the console behind him.

Shran, watching him curiously, asked through a bite of meat loaf, "How so?"

Reed gathered his thoughts. "First, rescue is not in question. _Enterprise_ will be here sooner or later, assuming they got our message."

Shran nodded grudgingly.

"Therefore, we ought to focus not on what we can repair, but why we want to repair certain systems. What do we need to do to this ship in order to complete our mission?"

"I take it you have some ideas." It wasn't a question.

"I do." Reed settled back into the pilot's chair, making himself comfortable. "We need to find Shian Thrashinar. True, it would be convenient if we could fix the shuttle and fly to his location. But we don't know his location—we only know that he is on this quite large planet."

Shran toyed with the remainder of his green beans. "Go on," he said.

"I suggest we walk to the nearest settlement and use local channels to find Shian. Instead of cannibalizing the shuttle for parts, we can sell the metal and tech to a salvage operation and then buy transport to where we need to go."

"The flaw with your otherwise flawless plan, of course, is that we shot down two ships," Shran pointed out. "Surely someone must have noticed their absence. They may have found the wreckage by now. If we lead them right to our ship, it will take only a cursory scan to learn that we were the ones who did the shooting."

Reed nodded. "I've thought of that, but I consider it a risk worth taking. We do have the flight recording, proving we were not the aggressors. We are merely innocent visitors." He ignored Shran's snort. "We're not making progress here; we're simply postponing what we'll have to do anyway. At least this way we'll have wasted only three or four days."

"I'd hardly say wasted." Shran took a sip of Andorian ale, which he'd refused to ration. He still had six unopened bottles. "We now know that our chances of fixing the ship to full space worthiness on our own are slim without the proper equipment and materials, and we also know that we cannot restore subspace communications." He sat up straight, abruptly struck by something. "We do, however, have local communications. We could always radio the settlement directly."

"Are you trying to avoid a day-long walk with me?" Reed asked dryly.

"Your company would be the highlight of the experience, I am sure," Shran responded. "But if we radio them now, we could simply request rescue. They could send a ship, and we could negotiate repair or salvage at that time."

"And run the risk of someone simply destroying the ship—and us—while we sleep." Reed held out his glass, and Shran obediently unstoppered the bottle of ale and poured him a few fingers. "Excuse me if I seem paranoid. If the authorities we radio are corrupt, such a transmission means we will be turning ourselves in. We could then expect a strafing run in the dark of night. More likely, someone will be monitoring the airwaves for a distress call. They might be under the impression that we crashed and burned too, but if they think like I do, they will be monitoring the airwaves, just in case. No, walking is our best option."

Reed sipped ale as Shran contemplated the situation. Finally, Shran stirred. "The mission must come first," he agreed. "How unfortunate we did not come to this understanding before I injured my back with that lead-lined unit."

Reed hid a smile. Shran was on board with his plan. "That is indeed unfortunate." He stood up and collected the empty food carton. "I am rather surprised no one has looked for us these last two days, to check on the wreckage," he called as he thrust the packaging into the trash compressor.

"Frankly, that's another reason to go," Shran said. "I somehow perceive a day-long walk in the field as retaining a sense of control. It is far less likely that someone will come upon us suddenly."

Reed nodded. "It's easier to find the twisted metal wreckage of a ship than two moving life signs." He dropped back into the pilot's chair and grabbed his glass of ale. "We ought to leave first thing tomorrow. We can prepare our packs tonight."

"Good idea." Shran gazed at his empty glass. "I suppose I ought to bring a few bottles of ale as currency," he noted.

Reed winced. The thought of lugging some of Shran's precious ale on a day-long hike through forested terrain was not appealing. "Heavy," he opined. "You'll have to carry them."

"We need some liquid currency," Shran said with a half smile, clearly aware of the joke. "This planet has a large Andorian population. Ale of this quality? It would be worth quite a bit."

Reed sighed. Shran was correct. They didn't have much of any value for trade, at least of anything that could be easily carried. "I can render gold and iridium from some of the nonessential components on board ship," Reed said. "Those ought to be valuable enough to purchase the equipment we need. We also ought to image the ship in its current state for any potential buyers, if we can't find the components we need to fix it."

"Don't forget to make a copy of the flight record," Shran advised. "I think the audio should be partially destroyed in the crash, don't you? To make us look completely harmless."

"Good idea." Reed reached for his padd and started a to-do list. "I hate to abandon this ship," he commented as he finished the data entry. "Commander Tucker spent a lot of time and effort on it."

"And that time and effort saved our lives," Shran pointed out.

"True." Reed drained his glass and set it on the console. "Well, we may be able to salvage her yet. If we don't run into problems, we can buy the components to get the engine working, then come back and finish repairs. Although I don't know about the large pieces of metal we'll need to reseal the hull. Those will be heavy and unwieldy." He sighed. At least they had a plan—well, two plans, depending on what they found at any settlement. "I'll start work on the radio."

"I'll begin preparing the packs." Shran stood, reaching for the glasses and the nearly empty bottle of ale. "Then I can image the ship."

"Good." Reed frowned at Shran, who had frozen in place. "What's wrong?"

"My back," Shran gasped. His antennae moved uneasily. "A twinge. Nothing more."

"You're not moving." Reed took the glasses and bottle from Shran and set them back down.

"Give me a moment." Shran sounded breathless. Reed watched as Shran took a deep breath, then straightened up—only to grab at his lower back. "Ow," Shran said feebly.

"You're no good like this," Reed told him. "You can't wear a pack and hike for two days with your back in this condition—especially a pack carrying Andorian ale. I'll have to leave you behind."

"You will do no such thing," Shran snapped, which Reed had anticipated. "Drugs were created for this very eventuality." When Reed didn't immediately move, Shran snapped, "Fetch me some, Lieutenant!"

Reed's eyebrows ascended as he rose to retrieve the med kit. "Yes, certainly. Treating the pain and not the underlying condition is a wonderful idea."

"It is, when we have a mission to complete. Not to mention, you have the remains of a concussion. Heavy packs and vigorous physical exertion are not the best idea for you either." Shran bent over, clutching his back with one hand and the armrest of the pilot's chair with the other.

Reed knew his own limitations at the moment, although he'd been trying to ignore them. Shran's blunt appraisal of his condition, however, only served to make him more aware of the low throb that circled his head. At least the periods of dizziness were occurring less frequently. His concussion was better, but he still had a way to go before he was operating at one hundred percent. And now, if Shran had some type of physical impairment... "I suppose we could delay a day or so," he said reluctantly.

"Certainly that would be the sane thing to do, but for now, help me to that cot over there and administer some analgesics. We can reassess the situation tomorrow. I heal very quickly."

Reed, who had opened the cabinet where the med kit was stored, turned around and marched back to Shran. Really, the Andorian seemed to have a difficult time deciding which orders to blurt out when he was in pain. First he wanted drugs, now he wanted help moving to the cot. Or maybe it was because the pain made him even crankier than he usually was.

"Your doctors probably kicked you out of their medical facilities because you complain endlessly until they can no longer bear the sight of you," he commented as he put a supporting arm around Shran.

"I see you are familiar my technique." Shran gasped with pain as he let Reed lead him to the cot.

Reed had to smile. "I am, actually. I use it myself," he admitted. "Down you go. On your stomach, I think." Shran huffed as he lay face-down on the cot, and Reed hastily removed the small pillow before going back to the med kit and finding the imager. He set the device to Andorian physiology and activated a scan. "It seems it's time to switch roles. I'm sure I can do just as well you did. You made a surprisingly effective nurse."

"Tell no one, upon pain of death," Shran ordered weakly. He tried to crane his neck back, gasped, and then looked downward again. "What does it say?" he asked.

Reed frowned at the handheld diagnostic imager. "Just a pull. Nothing serious," he decided. Shran definitely hadn't experienced a sprain. The scanner showed an area of greater heat, but little else. "I think I can administer some alorfloquine for the pain, but I'll need to see your back. Let me help," he directed as Shran sat up and began squirming, trying take off his shirt.

Shran couldn't lift his arms over his head, but he refused to let Reed cut the shirt off. A few minutes later, after great struggle and much cursing, he lay back down on the cot with a sigh of relief, bare to the waist. "It really is too bad you're not an Orion slave girl," Shran said, voice partially muffled. "A massage would likely solve all my problems."

"And here you were calling for drugs just a moment ago," Reed commented.

"Only because I cannot conceive of you condescending to massage me. It's a shame. A massage-drug combination is doubtless the best thing for me."

Reed contemplated Shran's blue back. His spine was oddly prominent, every bump of vertebrae visible under the skin. He wasn't sure what to make of Shran's obvious invitation. He let one hand hover over Shran's back, but he didn't touch. He realized now how much he wanted to. He shut his eyes for a long moment, willing his hands to think of stroking Philip in the hotel room at the Grand, instead of touching the cool skin of an ice-blue Andorian—an Andorian that he didn't even _like._

"I think the tissue regenerator will do nicely," Reed said. His voice sounded strange to his own ears. "Then some alorfloquine and rest. You'll be right as rain tomorrow."

"Lovely, although I have no idea how rain can be right. We have a saying on Andoria: Better that water be ice. And I say, the sooner the better." Shran sounded acerbic—as usual. "We really must put the Orion slave girl on our itinerary on our trip home. For me, at least."

"I do wish you'd stop with those remarks," Reed said coldly. "If you want to ask me something, you may ask me directly."

"Well, then, what would you like to do with an Orion slave girl?" Shran didn't sound at all abashed.

"I would love to go dancing." Reed dug through the kit and found the dermal regenerator. It worked best for skin, but he could alter the setting and use it to at least partially repair the minor damage Shran had sustained. The best he could tell, Shran had merely strained a muscle near a cluster of nerves, which caused pain out of proportion with the injury. Reed remembered how heavy that lead-lined unit was.

"Would you invite her to more intimate surroundings with you?" Shran persisted.

"Perhaps, if we got on." Reed made sure the tone of his voice brooked no conversation. "All right, here's the dermal regenerator. You may perceive the unit's metal tip as cold." Reed stroked the unit slowly along the injury, hyperaware of Shran's partial nudity. He knew that if he was ever to move ahead with Shran, he had to take the first step, because he now realized that Shran was incapable of it. For the success of the mission, he had to give Shran something. He took a deep breath, then took the plunge. "Shran, I would appreciate it if you refrain from the sly comments. It's adolescent and silly. To answer the question I think you're asking, I am quite happy to...go dancing with either women or men. But I do not go dancing with colleagues. And I prefer not to discuss it. With anyone."

"Very wise, I'm sure." Shran sounded almost drowsy. "Hmmm. I perceive it not as cold but as warm. It may be the friction."

Before he was aware of the impulse, Reed found he'd pressed his hand against Shran's back, parallel to the spine. The Andorian's skin was indeed cool, but it wasn't unpleasant. It was in no way like touching a corpse or uncooked meat, as he now realized he'd half feared. Shran seemed alive and vital to him despite his low body temperature. Maybe it was the sheer force of his personality. He hastily removed his hand. Shran hadn't moved. "Your skin is quite cool to the touch. Were you a human, if you were not moving, I might think you were actually dead."

"Oh, stop it. Your compliments and endless flattery are quite too much to bear," Shran commented. Then, in quite a different tone, he said, "Do forgive my curiosity about human mating customs. I have not met a human man before who sought out other men. It seemed...almost Andorian."

"Ah, yes, I remember you mentioning it. Four sexes, is it?"

"Two sexes, two...others with certain characteristics that are assigned social meaning that outsiders often choose to perceive as gender."

Reed focused on slow, rhythmic strokes with the regenerator to take his mind off the intriguing notion of a partially nude Shran under his hands, but his own curiosity was piqued. "That seems terribly confusing."

"Not really. Complex, perhaps, but not confusing, when one lives with it every day."

"Have you yourself formed a unit?" Reed asked. "A group of four, two with male characteristics and two with female characteristics? I believe that is considered the optimal configuration, from what you told me the other day."

"One configures however one likes," Shran answered with what sounded like amusement, but Reed couldn't see the other man's face to tell for sure. Then Shran sighed. "But no. I have not yet formed any sort of formal unit, much to my family's dismay. I ought to be reproducing, you see."

Reed deactivated the dermal regenerator and folded it shut. "Parents are the same the galaxy over," he noted. He had definitely gotten the impression that Shran's family was wealthy and socially prominent—aristocrats, even. "I can use the dermal regenerator again in six hours. Meanwhile, I'll inject some alorfloquine. It will numb the area, but it will also probably make you drowsy."

"An excellent plan."

"The injury is really quite minor, despite the pain," Reed reassured him. "One more treatment with the dermal regenerator should cure you. Which is quite lucky from my point of view, because I have no intention of carrying bottles of Andorian ale in my pack."

"I assure you, if we find Andorians on this blighted rock, the ale will be worth its weight in gold."

"I'll settle for worth its weight in intel." Reed popped the drug capsule into the hypospray, set the dose, checked the scanner to identify the correct injection site, and pressed the device against Shran's skin. "I find that Shian Thrashinar interests me more and more. What on this backward planet could he be doing?"

"A very good question, and one I'll be sure to ask him when we finally meet." Shran lifted his shoulders to his ears. "Oh, that is much, much better," he sighed. "Of course, I had hoped for a drug-massage combination."

Reed set the hypospray in the med kit. Give him something and let him open up, he thought to himself, but he knew it was simple rationalization. "Andorian physiology is so different," he commented as he settled himself more comfortably next to Shran. "Do let me know if I hurt you."

He smoothed his hand down Shran's spine, then placed both hands on Shran's shoulder blades and used his thumbs to gently rub circles on Shran's upper back. When he felt no sudden tension, no pulling away, no surprise, he increased the pressure and began a massage in earnest. Shran almost melted into the bed, body relaxing and opening up under his touch. Reed tried to remember what the scan had shown him of Shran's physiology, the exact location of Shran's minor injury. Yet when he dared touch the sore point in Shran's back as he moved his thumbs down the spine, the Andorian didn't react. There was no hiss of pain, no pulling away. Either the drug had completely blocked the pain, which Reed doubted, or Shran was showing him how much pain he could take in the name of pleasure. Reed rather thought he knew which of the two it was: Shran was sending him a message.

The cool flesh altered color as he stroked, temporarily blushing a darker blue, then returning to its lighter shade, a transformation that fascinated him. He increased the pressure when Shran did not complain, knowing he was on the verge of hurting Shran—and knowing that Shran not only permitted it, but enjoyed it. Reed had played the submissive with Philip, following his lead, but Shran, warming under his hands, was different altogether. He pressed his hand against Shran's neck, then relentlessly dug in his fingers. This elicited a strangled groan and a momentary tightening of Shran's body, a reaction that drove a gasp from Reed as he felt himself grow immediately hard.

He didn't give himself time to think. He threw a leg over Shran, so he straddled his body, and moved his fingers from Shran's neck out toward his ears. He felt a small bony protuberance behind each of Shran's ears. He rubbed both sides in tandem, hyperaware of Shran's slight, wiry body under his, just as he was aware that Shran was in ecstasy, thanks to his stroking—and likely also Reed pinning him down. One hand wandered up, enjoying the dense coarseness of Shran's white hair, and encircled an antennae. He barely had time to enjoy its wild flexing. If nothing else had seemed to affect Shran, this did, for he moaned and jerked his head away.

"Don't," Shran said when Reed captured it again. "You don't know what you're—oh." He let his hips be lifted, and Reed shoved his hardness against Shran's buttocks, letting Shran know that he certainly did know.

"Do you want me to stop?" Reed demanded hoarsely. "Because I am not interested in playing. You ought to tell me now, before I can't stop."

"No. No, I don't want you to stop."

"I didn't think so." Reed unfastened his trousers, then tugged at Shran's waistband, bringing Shran onto all fours. "Come here. Lean back."

Thanks to the scans and his memories from a class on xenobiology, he knew that Andorian physiology wasn't greatly different than that of humans in many important respects. He hitched his knees forward so he could press his hardness along the channel between Shran's legs. The sensation was exquisite: it wasn't just the touch of his heat against Shran's soothing coolness, but Shran's sigh of pleasure when Reed's hand wandered around to stroke between Shran's legs, then up to clasp an antenna again—and it was Shran's complete surrender to him, letting Reed touch where he would.

It was rough and fast, although he was careful with Shran's sensitive antennae. Shran said, "Here," and cupped his hand over Reed's, pushing their interlaced fingers into his groin as Reed's insistent erection pushed harder, the tip almost touching their hands as he worked against Shran's body. Shran's hand gripped his in a sudden crisis, and he felt Shran's thick, short penis pulse and twitch as Shran cried out. Shran's final surrender did it: Reed drove forward and came hard. When he came to himself a few long moments later, he found he was still clutching Shran's hip, pulling the Andorian in as close as he could. When he let go, Shran immediately collapsed onto his stomach, and Reed settled onto all fours, gasping.

The cot was small, so Reed stayed where he was, over Shran's spent body, until Shran stirred and rolled onto one side. "We ought to do that again, but looking at each other," he told Reed, urging him down so they lay face to face. Shran kicked off his trousers, which had fallen below his knees, and Reed followed suit. He found himself slightly amazed that he'd done it—acted on instinct rather than plan.

"Curious?" Reed asked ironically.

"Of course," Shran answered promptly. "But I'd like to see your face when you reach the pinnacle of pleasure—the moment you lose all control and become an animal, incapable of rational thought." He touched the side of Reed's face. "Because you are so very rational, so very contained."

"Not so rational," Reed said. He contemplated kissing Shran, then decided against it.

"Why do you not dally with colleagues?" Shran asked. At Reed's reaction, he asked, confused, "What?"

"Dally," Reed said. "It's not a word we use much. It's very much a word you might read, and less a word that you might say aloud."

"My English is very good, I've been told," Shran said haughtily.

"It is indeed. Forgive me." Reed stroked blue skin from ribcage to hipbone, then back up. "I do not dally with colleagues because we have rules against it if rank is involved. It breaks down the chain of command. In fact, on Earth, for centuries, women were barred from combat and from service on board certain kinds of ships, such as submarines. It has to do with power. Someone in charge ought not compel another into a sexual relationship that might not be to her—or in this age, his—liking."

Shran frowned. "This is not the Andorian way," he informed Reed. "Certainly any of my colleagues could spurn my advances, were she—or he—truly uninterested, with no fear of reprisal."

"In that, I fear you have the advantage over humans. I prefer to avoid the situation altogether. A ship is very small, after all." Reed trailed a finger along an antenna, and Shran tilted his head to move it away. "These seem very sensitive."

"One does not touch antennae," Shran informed him.

"Never?" Emboldened by the fact that he'd already breached one tremendous boundary, Reed gently clasped the antenna with his hand. He remembered how Shran had reacted when he'd touched it during their sexual encounter, and he found he was keen to see that reaction again.

"Except in bed."

"We are in bed."

"Then I suppose you might touch," Shran allowed.

Reed leaned in. "I will touch. You will tell me how you like it," he suggested, and he put his mouth over Shran's as he began to stroke the antenna. He played with Shran's antenna as Shran's mouth responded. A light, teasing stroke resulted in a matching kiss with a tongue flutter, but a heavy squeeze at the base of the antenna made Shran's tongue swirl against his, hard and demanding. From Shran's reactions, he imagined he knew just how having antennae might feel, with every physical sensation amplified.

"Again, while looking at each other?" he queried after a few minutes of play.

"Yes, please," Shran said. "I would like that very much."

### CHAPTER 5

Reed's head hurt. He recognized it as a lingering symptom of the concussion, aggravated by the exertion of the brisk hike with a heavy pack. Shran's constant griping hadn't helped his headache, either. He had complained about everything for the first couple of hours after they'd started out: the sticky humidity that made them sweat, the uneven terrain, the branches that slapped at their faces, even the insects that occasionally buzzed around them. Shran had finally, mercifully, shut up a short time ago. Reed preferred not to waste his energy complaining or arguing; it was taking most of his concentration to make sure he didn't trip over any roots hidden under the leaf-covered ground.

About the only thing Shran hadn't complained about were the three bottles of Andorian ale in his pack. It was a good thing Shran had said he'd carry them, because Reed would have left them behind. His own pack was heavy enough, what with survival supplies and the gold and iridium he'd managed to scavenge from the shuttle for barter.

He didn't know why he was surprised that the man he'd spent a few ecstatic hours with last night and the night before had turned back into grumpy Shran when they were no longer in bed—but he also didn't know what to make of the change in their relationship. Shran was acting as if nothing had happened. No word or sign indicated he felt anything at all for Reed, or that their relationship had fundamentally changed, but Reed followed his lead. The disconnect between their time awake, when they sniped at each other as they had always done, and their time together in the small cot or on the makeshift bed on the shuttle's floor was marked. It was like they inhabited two entirely separate zones, and Reed was having trouble moving from one to the other. Shran, on the other hand, apparently had no trouble with compartmentalization.

Still, Reed spent most of his time heartily wishing he and Shran hadn't done what they'd done, and the rest of it reliving every moment of their encounters. They were so alike, both alpha males striving for dominance, each wanting to show himself superior to the other. It was a potent aphrodisiac in bed. Shran had allowed Reed to be dominant—even as Reed knew that Shran's own dominance was thereby ensured.

Shifting his pack to a more comfortable position as he strode between the trees, Reed admitted it had been a prudent idea to wait an extra day before undertaking this expedition. Shran's back was better today, or so the man said. The med scanner indicated that the minor injury was completely healed, but Reed had caught him absently rubbing it from time to time. As far his own injury, Reed knew from experience that strenuous activity would only slow his recovery, but it couldn't be helped if they were to move forward with their mission.

The extra day of rest had also allowed Reed time to reevaluate the shuttle's systems and determine that there was a chance he could rig the shuttle to fly in the atmosphere, if only for short hops, and only if he stayed low. Space travel was out of the question as long as the hull remained pierced, but having an operable form of transportation on the planet would be a big plus. They couldn't stay at the crash site any longer, however, if they wanted to accomplish anything. Once they reached the town, they would find what materials they could to fix the shuttle, and return.

Reed had taken the lead; it was easier to go single file through the dense foliage. The landscape reminded him not so much of a tropical rain forest, but more like parts of Canada he'd visited when he'd been a Boy Scout. There were tall trees as far as one could see, which wasn't far because there were so many of them, and undergrowth in the spots where bright sunlight broke through the canopy.

A glance over his shoulder showed that Shran was falling behind. He turned back to the Andorian. "Do you need a break?" he asked.

"No," Shran croaked. Despite his denial, he stopped, one hand bracing himself against a tree while the other found its way to his back.

Reed dropped his pack and dug out the med scanner.

"I am fine!" Shran snapped, his antennae curling close to his head in a display of displeasure as Reed activated the device. "Put that thing away."

Reed ignored the order. The med scanner showed that the area of inflammation on Shran's lower back had lessened considerably. He returned the scanner to his pack and pulled out a hypospray.

"What is wrong with your hearing?" Shran demanded. "I told you I was fine."

"There's nothing wrong with my hearing," Reed said, holding the hypospray to his own neck. "This is for me." He depressed the button to inject the analgesic. Almost immediately, the throbbing in his head receded to a more tolerable level. He exhaled heavily as he rotated his head, trying to work the kinks out of his neck and upper shoulders.

"Maybe we should take a short break," Shran conceded. When Reed looked at him, he added hastily, "For your sake."

"Right," Reed muttered. He detached the canteen from the belt at his waist, opened it, and took a long swallow of water. Shran needed this break more than he did, but he'd learned that pride meant a lot to the Andorian. If Shran wanted to pass off this rest break as being for the benefit of someone other than himself, so be it. A brief rest would do both of them good.

Shran sat on the trunk of a fallen tree and opened his canteen of water. Reed moved off, checking the surrounding area with a short-range scan. Other than the two of them, there didn't appear to be anyone in the vicinity.

"We haven't run into anyone," Shran noted, his comment mirroring Reed's thoughts.

"I'm not sure I'm surprised by that or not," Reed said. "I find it hard to believe that no one is aware we crashed. I would have expected someone to have come looking for us by now."

Shran grunted and took a deep drink from the canteen. When he lowered the canteen, he said, "Maybe no one saw us. Or maybe they don't care."

"More likely they don't want to traipse through all this," Reed said with a wave of his hand at the surrounding forest. "They might have more important things to do, like whatever it is they do to make a living on this planet. Except for whoever sent those fighters after us, that is."

"Speaking of traipsing...you _are_ keeping a record of this, so we can find our way back?"

Reed glanced sharply at Shran, but there was no animosity on the other man's face. Shran was merely following procedure as any commanding officer would, he decided, checking to make sure all contingencies were taken care of. With a start, he realized that if Archer had asked the same question under the same conditions, he wouldn't have taken offense. "Of course," he said, careful not to let any sarcasm creep into his tone.

"How much farther?" Shran asked.

Reed called up the scanner's long-range schematic with the location of the settlement. "Not much farther. We're about two-thirds of the way there. Another hour and a half at most."

Shran nodded, not so much as having heard Reed, it seemed, but to convince himself that he could handle the remaining distance. Shran obviously was having a tougher time on this hike than he was, but Reed wondered if it was because of something other than his injured back muscles. Andorians lived on an ice world, which precluded any flora similar to what they were hiking through. No doubt Shran was used to much cooler temperatures as well. He was wondering if he should suggest they spend the night in the settlement when Shran took one last swallow of water, stoppered the canteen, and got to his feet, indicating his readiness to continue.

Reed shrugged on his pack—Shran hadn't taken his off—and started off again. He could hear Shran tromping along behind him, the dried vegetation under his feet crackling in the stillness of the forest. "It should become easier the closer we get to the town," he said over his shoulder. "The scanner indicates the foliage thins out soon."

"It won't be soon enough to suit me," Shran shot back, smacking a leaf-laden branch out of his way and muttering something in Andorian that Reed assumed was some sort of epithet.

So it was the environment that was making Shran cranky, Reed concluded. Obviously the man wasn't a fan of Joyce Kilmer. Shran probably had never seen a tree that he thought was lovely, much less written a poem about one.

Despite the physical hardship of this part of their mission, Reed found himself smiling. Shran reminded him of Tucker. The engineer could be quarrelsome at times, but Reed had grown used to it. And just like Tucker, Shran generally remained focused on the job at hand.

He also was glad that they were actively engaged in the mission once more. He felt like he had some control over events when he was doing something, as opposed to sitting and waiting. He could feel the increase in adrenaline as they neared their objective. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed that feeling. Maybe that was why he'd agreed to go along with his old boss, Harris, when the Section 31 chief had wanted him to interfere in _Enterprise'_s investigation of the Klingon augment virus. Oh, he'd learned his lesson well enough from that whole bungled affair—he couldn't serve two masters, and it had to be either Harris or Archer—but there was nothing like the rush that accompanied covert ops work.

They had been walking in silence for some time when Shran spoke. "What are we going to say when we get there?"

In the act of pushing a branch out of the way, Reed stopped and turned to face Shran. "That we need some triduranium alloy or something similar, preferably in sheets, as well as any electronic relays they might have."

"I seriously doubt there will be a convenient supply depot," Shran said with a straight face.

"As backward as this planet is, I'm hoping they at least have the equivalent of a village blacksmith." At Shran's blank expression, he added, "A person who makes tools out of metal. That would probably be the best source for what we're looking for."

Shran paused as he processed this information. "Actually, I was wondering—what are we going to tell them about our unannounced visit here?"

"Oh. Our original cover story about engine trouble should work. It's true enough." Reed thought for a moment. "We just won't go into detail about how it happened."

"A wise precaution," Shran agreed. "We shall also inquire about Shian Thrashinar, who is...a friend of ours. I do think he'd probably be in a bigger city, though. All the more reason to repair the shuttle." He gestured impatiently with one hand, as if suddenly weary of their brief conversation. "Well, let's get moving."

A quarter of an hour later, the forested area became less densely packed with trees. Reed and Shran were able to increase their pace. An hour after that, they came to a hill dotted with stumps. Someone had cut down most of the trees, but for what, Reed didn't know. The steeply inclined hill didn't strike him as a good place to farm, because erosion from rainfall could wash away any crops. There was no sign of terracing or other modifications of the environment related to crop growth.

Reed checked the scanner. "The town should be just over this rise," he said, pointing.

Shran squared his shoulders, then proceeded to march straight up the hill. Reed had to hurry to catch up with him. The Andorian came to an abrupt halt at the crest. "Oh, my," he murmured, taking in the town below them. He shaded his eyes against the rapidly setting sun, now just above the horizon. "We'll do well to find anything we need in this place."

Reed, panting as he joined him, had to agree. He estimated there might be roughly five hundred inhabitants, judging by the number of buildings, but it wasn't the small size of the town that was the problem. It was its development—or rather, the lack of it. All the structures, many made of wood, looked weather-beaten and worn. Most looked like private dwellings, not places of business. Smoke curled from several chimneys. Certainly the fires weren't for keeping warm, not in the cloying heat, Reed thought as he wiped the back of his hand across his sweaty brow. More likely any inside fires were for cooking. Perhaps they'd arrived at mealtime.

That also explained the deforested hill they'd just climbed. Not only was lumber used as the primary building material around here, but it was apparently used for cooking and heating. Once again, Reed was struck by how backward—and poor—this planet was. Suddenly the fact that nobody had come poking around at the crash site made perfect sense. Yet Reed found himself puzzled: why did Shian Thrashinar make trips to this planet?

It wasn't the best place to look for parts for the shuttle, but as any covert operative knew, looks could be deceiving. And it was the only place to look at the moment. The next closest settlement was more than thirty-five kilometers away. He caught a glimpse of a ground transport parked behind one of the buildings. If they couldn't find what they needed to fix the shuttle, they might be able to rent the ground car, although they'd be limited to traveling on roads, which could severely hamper their efforts to find Shian Thrashinar.

"Come on," Reed said, hitching his pack higher and starting down the slope toward the town. "Maybe we'll get lucky."

They half walked, half slid down the steep hillside. They made their way toward what was the main thoroughfare, a wide, dirt-packed path that doubled as a road, as evidenced by the ruts and tire marks in it. The road started at the closest structure, and ran in a straight line between the buildings.

"I was hoping for some sort of town center, where most of the businesses might be located," Reed said, glancing at the first building they walked past. It was disturbingly quiet. There were no people to be seen. But then, if this was a settlement of farmers, most of them might still be out working in the fields, he supposed, despite the lateness of the day.

Shran squinted into the distance. "There looks to be some buildings with signs ahead. They could be places of commerce."

As they drew closer to those buildings, Reed could make out crude wooden plaques hanging above their entrances. Unfortunately, he couldn't decipher them. "That sign is in Andorian," Reed said, pointing. He couldn't read it, but he could identify the language.

Shran nodded in confirmation. "Yes. Perhaps there are some of my people living here. That will be where we start."

Reed concentrated on scoping out the town as they walked toward the building with the sign in Andorian. He saw the slightest movement behind a window—someone had let a curtain fall back into place—and knew they were being watched. Farther on, he heard the sound of a door closing; someone had been peeking out at them before they'd gotten closer. Maybe the townspeople were just being cautious. They probably didn't get many visitors.

"What does the sign say?" he asked Shran.

"Goods for sale," came the answer.

"Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone," Reed said. "That looks like the only place here we might find what we need, and if the proprietor is Andorian, he might know our 'friend.'"

"Let me do the talking," Shran ordered.

Reed smiled wryly. "You'll have to. I don't speak Andorian."

Shran entered the store without knocking, pushing open a light screen door. After one last look down the deserted street, Reed followed him in, his boots sounding loudly on the wooden floor. When his eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight outside, he made out cluttered bookcases against the walls, and tables and chairs scattered about in small groupings. A counter ran the length of the far side of a large room. As far as "goods for sale," the only thing that looked like it was available for purchase was in bottles on a shelf lining the wall behind the counter—unless the cheap knickknacks and second-hand books on the shelves constituted the owner's stock.

"Leave it to you to find the only pub in town," Reed murmured, and Shran flashed him a smile but didn't reply.

The curious thing about the place was that it appeared as empty as the town. Reed almost jumped when he realized that wasn't quite true. A person was sitting on a chair in the shadows, his feet propped up on a table. Under their scrutiny, the man rose to his feet and shuffled toward the bar. The blue skin, white hair, and antennae marked him as an Andorian.

Shran greeted the man heartily. The man mumbled something in response. Reed didn't understand what they were saying, but Shran must have asked for something to drink, for the man reached under the counter, came up with two glasses that he placed on the bar, and turned to fetch a bottle from the shelf behind him. After the bartender poured out the liquid—a murky, dark brown concoction that smelled strongly of alcohol—Shran gestured at Reed to take one of the glasses.

At least Shran was trying to be more subtle, Reed thought as he cautiously sniffed the contents of his glass. He couldn't identify it, but it definitely wasn't Andorian ale. The Imperial Guard commander could have burst in here, demanding answers and trying to intimidate the other Andorian. But as far as Reed could tell, Shran was pouring on the charm. He was prattling on in his native language, laughing and gesticulating expansively. At one point, he saw the other man smile widely in response to something Shran had said.

In an aside, Shran said to Reed, "I told Sharith here that we're having engine trouble..."

Reed nodded. That fit their cover story. He lifted the glass, steeling himself to show no displeasure at the pungent smell. "Sharith," he said politely, if a bit breathlessly because of the alcoholic fumes, to the man. "Thank you." He repeated his thanks in Andorian—one of the few phrases he knew in that language.

"...and that it's lucky I bought you on this pleasure trip, because of your knowledge of engines," Shran added as Reed took a sip. "I was telling Sharith what a valuable consort you are."

Reed choked on the noxious liquid. Shran good-naturedly pounded him on the back as he coughed, making some clearly derogatory comment to Sharith, who laughed in response.

"Consort!" Reed managed to gasp between coughs. He kept his voice low. He doubted Sharith spoke English, but it wouldn't do to presume too much. "Pleasure trip?"

"It's the most believable story I could come up with on such short notice," Shran said under his breath, a smarmy smile on his lips.

Reed gazed warily at Shran as the two Andorians began to converse again. Shran's demeanor had changed from his earlier expansive mood to one more serious. Reed presumed that he was telling Sharith about their need for materials to fix their engine. Sharith kept stealing glances at Reed, who wandered around the room, pretending interest in his surroundings, so as to provide a pretext for not having to make eye contact. He glanced idly at a stack of books piled neatly near the till. One of the titles caught his eye, but he acted disinterested, moving to the wall so he could gaze at some badly framed artwork. He'd already established that the items on the bookcases were games and toys, presumably for the customers, which apparently included children. Reed turned back when Shran slipped off his pack and produced a bottle of blue ale.

Sharith, Reed noted, licked his lips at the sight. Shran had picked the correct form of currency after all. Sharith made a "follow me" motion that even Reed could comprehend and led the way to a curtained doorway at the end of the bar. Shran started after him, jerking his head for Reed to follow.

Sharith held back the curtain for Shran and Reed to pass through. Reed stopped just inside as he gazed around. The place resembled nothing so much as a pawnshop. Shelves made of the same cheap composite material as those in the bar lined the room. There were shelves upon shelves of dusty items, most worn but apparently serviceable, piled haphazardly in no particular order. Amidst the disorder of second-hand clothing, household utensils, hand tools, and battered electronic devices, he saw a number of things that might be adapted for their requirements. About the only thing he didn't see were large items made from the metals or alloys they needed.

Reed moved farther into the room. As he began inspecting an old handheld scanner—Vulcan, from the looks of it, but minus its power cell—propped on a shelf, he heard Shran say something to Sharith. He popped the cover from the back of the scanner. Inside were circuits and relays, one of which could be used to repair the helm console.

Shran moved over to him. "Our host says to help yourself."

Reed, the scanner in still in his hand, gazed around the room. He was very aware of Sharith, and wary of the Andorian stranger's interest. "We still need some kind of triduranium alloy, preferably in sheets and not ingots, but I don't see any here."

Shran smiled. "That's our next stop." He exchanged a few words with their new friend. "Sharith says he knows someone in town who might help us, but she closes up shop at sundown. He can take us to her first thing tomorrow morning."

"I suppose that will have to do," Reed said grudgingly. Another piece of equipment caught his eye, and he headed over for a closer look. "Is there a room we can rent for the night?"

The two Andorians exchanged a few words, and then to Reed's dismay, Shran called Reed over, only to put his arm around his shoulders and pull him close. Reed resisted the urge to pull away, instead permitting a half hug. He managed to wiggle out of Shran's close grasp by leaning over to replace the item on a shelf. He had a bad feeling about this—a very bad feeling. It was the worst kind of cliche: Shran had implied that the two of them were romantically involved. He'd forced Reed into a position where he would have to play along, even as Reed was annoyed at Shran for his total lack of acknowledgment of their sexual relationship outside their cover story.

"A single bottle of Andorian ale goes quite a long way for someone who hasn't been home in a while," Shran noted, giving Reed a smile and an affectionate pat on the shoulder, his fingers sliding over to linger at the nape of Reed's neck. To Sharith, it probably looked like affection. To Reed, it felt like a warning. "We're his guests for the night."

"How kind," Reed said through a frozen smile as Shran again spoke in quick Andorian.

"Yes, very kind—particularly because he doesn't have a guest room," Shran informed him a moment later. "He will sleep here in the storeroom—" The better to watch the goods and keep them safe from strangers, Reed knew. "—and we can have his bedroom."

"Lovely," Reed said, for lack of a better adjective, just as Sharith leaned over and pulled open a drawer. "And...what is this?" he asked politely as Sharith handed him a ceramic pot.

"Oh, too kind, too kind indeed," Shran said, leaning over to sniff rapturously as Reed unscrewed the lid, revealing a dense, lightly scented cream. "For my back. He noticed it was troubling me. It's infused with an Andorian lichen to reduce pain and swelling. Ah! This does bring back memories." He turned to Sharith and spoke in Andorian, no doubt repeating what he'd just told Reed.

Reed gave it an experimental whiff. He had to admit that it smelled rather nice. "For your back—now?" he asked over Sharith's excited voice as Shran began unfastening his shirt.

"Apparently so," Shran said, seeming untroubled as he slid the shirt off, revealing his white undershirt. "Reed. No need to be shy in front of our friend."

"How much of a...friend?" Reed asked warily as Sharith exited, gesturing them to follow.

Shran actually laughed, seemingly enjoying himself, as he and Reed trailed behind their host. "You are quite safe. He's the wrong gendered construct to join the two of us."

He'd have to take Shran's word for that, for Reed certainly couldn't tell by looking. "How reassuring," he murmured. The other Andorian might not be able to participate, but judging by the avid look on their host's face, Reed wouldn't be surprised if he liked to watch.

At the rear of the structure, they were waved into a bedroom. Sharith hastily grabbed a clean, folded blanket and spread it over the bed. Shran had deliberately gotten them into this situation, Reed fumed, even though he had ignored him all day, as though they hadn't shared intense pleasure for the past two nights. It wasn't like Reed to balk at a covert ops scenario. He knew that if his feelings for Shran were totally professional, this act wouldn't be a problem at all. But to his chagrin, he'd become intrigued, and the act only drove home how cold Shran was when they weren't actually in bed together. In addition, he could not afford to lose control. Thanks to what he'd spotted while he'd wandered around Sharith's main room, he couldn't assume, for instance, that Sharith was harmless.

Still. He had to play along. "Right, then," he said as Shran, now stripped to the waist, dropped his shirt and undershirt onto the low bed. The bed seemed very small to Reed, no larger than the cot that he and Shran had shared, but of course it was sized to fit an Andorian. There would be room for two, but just barely.

Sharith continued to talk with Shran in quick Andorian as he stuffed a few things into a carryall.

Reed found himself a minute later kneeling on the bed next to Shran, pot of salve heavy in his hand. He scooped a bit out with his first two fingers and gently smeared it onto Shran's lower back, well remembering the site of the flare of red on Shran's scan, but, according to the scanner, now healed. As Sharith and Shran talked, Shran's voice occasionally muffled by the mattress, Reed stroked the scented substance into Shran's skin. Shran's antennae danced slowly as he increased the pressure. With rubbing, and perhaps also the salve, Shran's skin warmed. Reed, conscious of Sharith's curious eyes on him, focused on Shran's lower back, then on the area around the spine. He realized he was being closely watched. He had to sell the idea that he and Shran were a bonded pair. The fact that their position matched the situation where he'd first made his move on Shran—it should have made it easier, but it didn't. He did his best to look intent on his task and hoped it was enough.

Shran was the one who stopped the massage, and it seemed to be in response to a remark by Sharith. He laughed, then grabbed one of Reed's hands and half rolled over. Reed knew exactly what was expected of him. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Shran's in a short kiss, its length calculated to indicate real affection without embarrassing Sharith—the kind of affectionate kiss a couple who had been together a long time might exchange.

"Very good," Shran complimented him—on the massage, the kiss, the act, or all three, Reed had no idea.

Reed screwed the cap back onto the jar of salve and offered it to Sharith, eyebrows raised in exaggerated query. Sharith took it, laughed, and said something to Shran. Then he picked up the small bag he'd packed and exited the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

"Do I want to know what he said?" Reed asked.

"I rather imagine you know what he said." Shran rolled over and scooted his head and shoulders onto a pillow. "I don't know if it was the massage, the scent of the salve, or that kiss, but suddenly I feel much, much better."

Reed ignored the remark as he reached over to his backpack and pulled out the handheld medical scanner. "May I?"

Shran shrugged acquiescence, and Reed initiated the scan. He had to hold it quite close to Shran's back to get a reading. Instead of the single hot spot of red indicating the now-healed pulled muscle, he saw an expanse of red, indicating heat—the residual effects, he thought, of the rubbing and likely some aspect of the salve. "I can't interpret the readings," he said, showing Shran the scan, aware that he was putting off the inevitable.

"Hmm." Shran didn't seem too interested in the readings, because he barely gave them a glance. "The important thing is that I feel better." He shifted on the bed, making himself comfortable. He slid his hand intimately around Reed's neck. "Sharith is very curious about us—an Andorian with an off-worlder as a consort, a pair lacking the female-gendered half of the Andorian construction."

"Oh?" Reed asked. "What did you tell him?"

"The truth: that we do not wish it, at least not now." Shran also seemed aware that they were probably being listened to, for his next remark was pitched for Reed's ears only. "I remain very curious about you," he admitted. His fingers twined in the hair at the nape of Reed's neck. "And I do believe that you are curious about me."

"I am," Reed admitted as Shran's mouth came close to his, studiously not touching. Shran's skin was cool to the touch, but his breath was warm. "Right now I'm curious about why you treat me so coldly when we're not in bed together, then expect me to play along when you decide to display affection."

"I've offended you?"

Reed saw no point in dissembling. "Yes, you have."

"I do apologize. That was not my intent." Through force of habit, both spoke softly. To anyone watching, Reed knew, they would appear to be a devoted couple exchanging loving words. "Temporary liaisons such as this are common in the Imperial Guard, as well as other strata of Andorian society. What I—feel—for you is much different than how I treat you. This is acceptable practice, meant to minimize problems, especially in the Guard, so that we may remain ready to perform our duties at a moment's notice."

"Temporary," Reed echoed. Of course it was temporary—he knew that, although he hadn't thought about it one way or the other. They'd only shared two nights together, after all. But to have it said so baldly took all the romance out of it. Reed shook his head and huffed out a laugh. Romance? With Shran? It was patently ridiculous.

"If the difference in my manner puzzled you, allow me to tell you directly what I feel," Shran continued. "I think that is best, considering that this is an interspecies liaison. Subtlety would be lost on you, and Andorian methods of coping with work and sex clearly offend you when no offense is meant."

Reed, placated, said, "It's not necessary for you to tell me directly what you feel. Perhaps you could show me. For our audience." He jerked his head slightly to the door, indicating Sharith. "I take it you noticed the books in English behind the counter? One of them dealt with antique human projectile firearms."

"Indeed I did. I suppose the books might be for sale." Shran's eyes closed briefly as Reed stroked his jaw, then ran a fingertip up, along his forehead, and farther up to stroke an antenna. It felt like a sinewy muscle. Reed had always been fascinated by Andorian antennae. He found it interesting that they moved independently of each other, rather than symmetrically. Shran's immediate physical reaction didn't hurt either.

"And he may be suspicious of two strangers who claim to have a pair bond in the Andorian style, when one does not speak Andorian," Reed pointed out.

"I didn't think of that. You make an excellent point." Shran's antenna curled under his touch. "That tickles."

"Should I stop? Or do you prefer this?" Reed engulfed the antenna in his hand. It flexed under the gentle pressure.

"Oh. I prefer that. I very much prefer that."

"He will be listening," Reed warned. "And I wouldn't be surprised if he was watching."

"Then let's give him something to hear." Shran put a hand against his chest. "Take your clothes off."

Reed backed up and slid off the bed. He let his clothes drop to the floor in an untidy heap, although he made sure his pants and shoes were easily available in case he needed to dress quickly. He crawled between Shran's outspread legs, aware not only of Shran's eyes on his obvious excitement, but also those of their unseen watcher. Was Sharith watching on a monitor somewhere, the transmitter cleverly concealed? Or was he standing on the other side of that wall, eye pressed to a knothole?

"Let me help you with that," he murmured, and between kisses, he removed Shran's clothing, piece by piece, until they could press together, nude body against nude body. "You're going to have to cue me," he whispered as Shran nipped at his collarbone.

"You will do whatever I ask?" Shran said.

Reed didn't hesitate. "I will." He let Shran capture his mouth in a luxurious kiss. He passed his hands slowly over Shran's cool skin, reveling in the texture against his palms. He imagined what Sharith might see: pale pink-white skin against blue, desire palpably strong, and he felt himself grow harder at the mental image of he and Shran twined together.

"For the sake of the mission?" Shran teased.

"For that. And for myself." Reed gasped when Shran reached between his legs and took him in hand. "Because I wish it."

"I've established myself as dominant," Shran told him, as if it were a warning. He stroked Reed's penis, then cupped his testicles.

Of course he had. "And so you are," Reed purred as Shran gently squeezed. It was the right thing to say: Shran's antennae whipped in reaction.

When Shran shoved Reed onto all fours, Reed thought briefly of Philip at the Grand Hotel. He'd been playing a role then too, a lower-class laborer willing to let someone do whatever he liked with his body. Philip had wanted his mouth. Shran wanted his body, yes, but even more, he wanted Reed's acquiescence and submission. When Reed murmured "yes" and "more" and "harder," Shran grew more excited, his movements more frantic.

As Shran pierced him, entering him fully with a single thrust while holding him down with a firm hand on his back, Reed cried out in mingled pain and pleasure, because now he knew that this was what he had always wanted: someone to master him, to tell him exactly what to do. He wanted the force of that hand on his back, keeping him from moving, just as he reveled in the reaction he drew out of Shran. He had turned the self-possessed Andorian into a desperate, rutting animal.

He felt Shran inside him like a rod of molten heat, touching a place deep inside him that bloomed hot pleasure, but more than that, he wanted to be crushed under the force of Shran's hand on his back. Shran's other hand gripped his hip hard as Shran worked himself in and out, faint grunts of raw pleasure accompanying each thrust. He imagined Sharith's gaze hungrily devouring them as they coupled, two alien bodies together. Their host was probably masturbating. Tomorrow, he would lie on the blanket where Reed and Shran had fucked. The smell they left behind would let Sharith relive what he'd witnessed, Andorian and human. But for now, Sharith would be voyeuristically watching them coupling on his bed.

He didn't need to act to put on a proper show. It was all real. The thought of Sharith watching, combined with Shran's thrusting, resulted in a burst of pleasure so intense that he had to raise his head and shoulders to cry out. Shran immediately shoved him to force his body back down, as if to remind Reed who was in charge. At the slap of Shran's hand, Reed came so hard that he shattered, hands wide to catch himself on the bed because he was falling. He heard his voice over all of it as he sobbed his joy. This was what he had wanted: someone taking, and taking, and taking.

He was aware Shran pounding him, the pain little white punctuations in his orgasm, until Shran pulled Reed close as he climaxed inside him. Shran was saying something in Andorian, but Reed was somewhere outside speech. Shran collapsed over him, suddenly heavy, and when he slipped out, Reed collapsed, Shran atop him, both barely conscious.

### CHAPTER 6

A blue hand roughly shook Reed's shoulder. "Time to wake up, Lieutenant. There is much to be done today."

Reed blinked blearily and rolled onto his back, registering that he was alone in the narrow bed, even as the other man's words penetrated his sleep-fogged brain. _Lieutenant,_ he had said. He'd fallen asleep in Shran's arms, sated from their deliberately energetic lovemaking, designed to be overheard. Now he had woken to find Shran standing over him, addressing him by his rank. It appeared that Shran, despite their amorous activities of the previous night, had resumed his usual emotional distance. Being addressed by his rank was a clue, and Reed could take a hint.

Reed inhaled deeply and threw back the blanket. Even with Shran's explanation that Andorians kept their more intimate relationships separate from other aspects of their lives, it still came as a shock every time Shran switched gears with so little effort. He silently berated himself as he swung his bare legs over the edge of the bed. What was he expecting Shran to do? Wake him with a tender kiss and a whispered, "Good morning, Malcolm"? Come to think of it, that might even be worse. It would be so unlike Shran that it would make him wonder what was going on. It did make him uncomfortably realize that Shran did not call him "Malcolm"; he called him "Reed."

However, appearances mattered for this mission. Shran had established them as a couple. They needed to act the part, in case their curious host was lurking nearby. "The proximity alarm?" he asked, voice low. Shran had set it just as Reed had been drifting off to sleep, after their second bout of lovemaking. The hike, not to mention their nocturnal activities, had left them too physically exhausted to keep watch.

Shran said, "For the moment, we're alone." He took the proximity alarm—a commercial padd running a motion-detector program—from a shelf by the door and made for the better light next to the window.

Reed nodded curtly as he quickly began dressing. Not only was there a cool bite to the air this morning, but he was very aware of Shran, fully clothed, watching him, and he felt an unaccustomed shyness about his nudity. Shran, standing next to the window where clear daylight shone in, looked as if he had been awake for hours. Had Reed been so exhausted that he hadn't been roused by Shran leaving the bed? He'd much rather believe that it was because he had needed the rest as he was still recovering from the concussion.

"You've talked to him already?" he guessed.

"Yes," Shran replied. "Sharith said he had some business to attend to, but would return to take us to what you would call the village blacksmith."

Reed, buttoning his shirt, looked up at this comment. There was a slight smile on Shran's face. Reed felt an answering smile form on his own. He didn't know whether it was in response to Shran's obvious amusement at the English terminology or that things were finally looking better for their mission. Perhaps a little of both, he thought. "There are a few more things in the storeroom I'd like to take a look at," he said as he sat on the bed to pull on his boots.

"That shouldn't be a problem," Shran said, picking up his pack and slinging it over one shoulder. "I was told that we should take whatever suits our needs."

"You did say a bottle of Andorian ale goes a long way."

"Not so long as you'd think."

Reed raised an eyebrow, a gesture understood by the Andorian.

"It seems we made quite an impression on Sharith last night," Shran remarked, his gaze going to the rumpled bed. His implication was clear: The other Andorian had indeed been listening, if not watching them.

"Oh." A residual throb of passion shot through Reed as he remembered what had taken place in the bed. For once, Shran hadn't ceded control. Quite the opposite, actually. Reed had been willingly coerced into a submissive role by Shran's aggressive lovemaking. Shran hadn't exactly been gentle, but then, Reed hadn't particularly wanted him to be. A stinging soreness in Reed's most private area attested to the fact that it had been the most intimate contact between them so far.

Reed involuntarily grunted as he leaned forward to retrieve his pack. "Maybe you should ask him to let me use some of that salve. It seemed to do wonders for your back."

"Did I tell you that, in addition to its healing properties, it has qualities of an aphrodisiac?" At Reed's startled expression, a low laugh came from Shran. "Apparently I didn't."

"On second thought, I think I'll pass." Reed got to his feet, pack in hand, and made to move past Shran toward the door.

Shran's hand shot out and grasped Reed's arm, effectively halting him. "You didn't enjoy yourself last night?"

Reed was confused by this newest shade of Shran. The Andorian had been the one to say he didn't talk about romantic involvements when other issues took priority. Not that what they'd done had been romantic. It had been pure, raw sex, shocking in its intensity, but no less pleasurable for all that. Reed had considered at the time that Shran might have been performing for their audience, showing his sexual mastery over a being of another race, instead of from true desire for him, but that doubt was rapidly evaporating under Shran's questioning gaze. There seemed to be real concern behind it.

"Very much," Reed answered at last. "As I know you did."

A smirk crossed Shran's face, which for some reason both reassured and infuriated Reed. This was more like the old Shran he knew, before any of their other entanglements. Feeling his own need to dominate resurface, he jerked his arm from Shran's grasp, and stalked out of the room.

* * *

In addition to the circuitry in the Vulcan scanner, Reed found a few other things in the storeroom that could be adapted to the shuttle's needs. By the time he had scoured the entire room and had put the usable items in his pack, he figured they'd be able to restore helm function and basic propulsion. Now it was only a matter of obtaining the metals they needed. It wouldn't do to attempt flight without patching the holes in the shuttle's skin, and for that they needed sheets of triduranium or something similar. The stress of even the simplest maneuvers would cause the tears to rip further. They needed to patch the holes before they attempted flight.

He hesitated as he closed his pack, his thoughts veering from the professional to the personal. There had been a crack in that smooth Andorian veneer this morning, when Reed was almost positive that Shran had needed to know if he'd enjoyed their time together last night. While Reed could intellectually and professionally appreciate Shran keeping his emotional distance, that one little glimpse into Shran's feelings this morning had pleased him immensely, even as it served to show how unsettled his experiences with Shran had made him.

Every rule about personal relationships in covert ops was right: don't get involved with a coworker. Or if you do, don't let it matter. Otherwise, it could lead to a fatal distraction. Reed knew he had to be careful not to let something like that happen to him. Shran, he had to admit, was actually carrying that off better than he, thanks to his Andorian ability to compartmentalize feelings.

As he walked into the common area, he told himself that he'd have to try harder to clamp down on these unaccustomed trains of thought when he should be occupied with other things. If an opportunity for pleasure with Shran arose, he'd take it, but he wouldn't dwell on it.

There was no sign of their host, Sharith, but Shran was seated at one of the tables. There was a bottle of Andorian ale and one half-full glass in front of him.

"It's rather early for that, isn't it?" Reed asked, pointing to the bottle.

"It has excellent restorative powers," Shran said. "I do find that I need restoration, after last night." He picked up the glass and took a long swallow. A sigh escaped him as he lowered the glass. "Would you care to join me?"

Reed shook his head. There was no way he was going to drink any of the potent blue ale on an empty stomach. He wondered if Shran had eaten anything today, and if he hadn't, what effect the alcohol would have on him. Reed had only seen drunk Andorians from a distance, and he certainly hoped Shran wasn't going to be his first up-close encounter, not with the mission at stake. However, after last night, he knew he liked seeing Shran out of control. Remembering his new resolve, he quickly quashed that thought. He reached into his pack and pulled out two ration bars. He offered one to Shran.

Shran's nose wrinkled. "Thank you, but no."

Reed tossed one of the bars on the table before tearing the wrapper off the other. "We've got a long day ahead of us. You'll need to eat something."

"Before our host left, he gave me a _sliangin,_ an Andorian pastry," Shran said with a frown. "He baked it himself."

Reed, mindful of his tender rear, carefully took a seat at the table. "It was that bad?"

"I suppose not." Shran took another sip of ale. "It was passable, but not as good as what my father used to make."

Reed took a bite of the ration bar, contemplating this latest tidbit of personal information as he chewed. Not once had Shran spoken to him about his family, other than to drop vague hints about their power and political importance. Here in the main area of their host's business, there was every possibility that they were under surveillance. In fact, with all the tech in the back room, it would be surprising if they were not. The fact that their host was in possession of books written in English, including one about weapons, no matter how outdated, still concerned him. Did that man understand English, and if not, how had he gotten his hands on those books? For the time being, food was an appropriately innocuous topic.

Reed swallowed and said, "You're lucky. My mother made the most terrible pancakes, a type of breakfast food made from batter and cooked on a griddle. I had to smear peanut butter on them to make them palatable. Now whenever I have pancakes, I find I can't eat them without peanut butter." He smiled at the recollection, because pancakes were a most un-English breakfast item, yet somehow his mother had conceived a passion for them.

"Pancakes? I don't believe I've—"

Shran broke off and got to his feet to greet Sharith, who strode in from the street entrance. Reed, still munching on the ration bar, remained seated, projecting his imposed subservient role in front of the alien. He ignored the leering glance that Sharith gave him. After a few minutes of conversation between the two Andorians, Shran turned to Reed and said, "If there's nothing else here we need, we can see about the metals and the triduranium sheets."

Reed popped the last of the ration bar into his mouth and got to his feet, noting that Sharith was watching him with curious, unblinking eyes. Reed managed a bright smile around his ration bar, but didn't speak. After politely showing Sharith what he'd taken from the stores, he gathered up his pack and followed Shran as he walked toward the door, aware of the other Andorian sizing him up as he passed.

Outside, Sharith locked up behind them, then took the lead. Shran dropped back to talk to Reed as they walked. "If all goes well, we may be able to make it back to our ship today."

Reed glanced automatically at the sky, although it would be difficult to tell how long the day would be simply by the position of this planet's sun. He hadn't been here long enough to become accustomed to its diurnal cycle. At least the day looked like it was going to shape up like the previous one—clear, with no sign of rain. Unfortunately, it also felt like it was going to be just as humid. The coolness he'd noticed earlier was rapidly dissipating.

With a dip of his head, Reed indicated the Andorian in front of them. "Did you ask him if he knows our friend?" he asked quietly, so as not to be overheard.

"I did. He doesn't."

They turned down a side street. The sound of hammering came from a large shed, the double doors of which were propped open by scrap metal. Reed saw a cascade of red-hot sparks erupt inside. He hadn't expected to come across welding tools here. Focused on the mission now, Reed made some quick calculations. If they could rent or buy some of the welding equipment and get back to the shuttle today, it might be only two or three more days before they could resume their search for Shian Thrashinar and whoever he was giving the stolen weapons research data to.

As the two Andorians entered the shed ahead of him, he stopped to pull out his scanner and run it over one of the pieces of metal outside. "Shran!" he called as he checked the readout. "This would work."

Shran walked back to him and glanced at the scanner's readings. He nodded and clapped his hand on Reed's shoulder. "Well done! As always, your expertise is invaluable."

Reed started to bristle at the condescending tone before realizing that Shran was in full cover mode. Chances were the other Andorian didn't know English, that the books that so bothered him by their presence had been left by another traveler, but body language alone was often enough to indicate what was being said. It was Reed's job to play along, pretending to be a consort delighted at his lover's compliments and kindnesses. Instead of the sarcastic remark he'd almost uttered, he managed a smile as Shran turned back toward Sharith and quickly rattled something off in their native tongue, making the other man laugh.

Then Shran snapped his fingers imperiously at Reed and held out his hand for the scanner. Really, that was too over the top, Reed thought. This time he did react. It was perfectly in keeping with his role to glare through narrowed eyes at the Imperial Guard commander. Shran laughed and tilted his head, a "what's wrong" expression on his face as he looked at Reed. Clearly he was trying to act like he was softening his approach. With a sniff, Reed handed over the device, then crossed his arms over his chest, the picture of wounded pride.

His role right now required he not participate. He'd have to stand back and let Shran do the negotiating.

* * *

Some time later, Reed and Shran were trudging through the forest on their way back to the shuttle. A generous payment of gold and iridium had made them the owners of several beaten sheets of metal that had been shaped to their specifications by the local blacksmith, who had been of a human-looking species except for an extra set of ears and six fingers on each hand. They'd still have to refine the shapes further, but in Reed's estimation, the smithy's work had cut a good day off their repair time.

Unfortunately, the metal sheets were heavier than what they'd given up in gold and iridium. Their return trip, burdened by the dense metal and a small welding kit, was much slower than the hike into town. Reed had had the smithy drill and smooth holes in the metal; he'd run a strong rope through the holes, and they dragged the large pieces of metal behind them. Reed felt ridiculously like he was pulling a sled. But the larger pieces were needed for hull integrity. He could have welded several smaller pieces together, but a single large piece would be far stronger and easier to seal.

The slower pace put Reed on edge. Now that they had all the materials, he was anxious to begin repairs. But more than that, there had been the bad vibes he'd picked up when they'd finished their business at the blacksmith's shop. Sharith, who had been hovering in the background, had become increasingly agitated. According to Shran, his fellow Andorian had tried to talk them into staying another night. When Shran had declined, Sharith had offered to provide them with a traditional Andorian midday meal before they set out. Again Shran had declined, not so much because it would have delayed their departure, Reed knew, but because Shran wasn't enamored of the man's cooking.

Reed didn't believe Sharith's cause for desperation was that he missed the company of his own kind or that he wanted to witness another erotic interlude. Not only was his salacious manner of the night before completely absent, he kept glancing down the main street. Reed suspected he was waiting for the arrival of someone he had contacted earlier that morning when he was off on his own business—someone who wouldn't be pleased if Shran and Reed left town.

Reed hung back, checking over his shoulder frequently and using the scanner regularly to search for any sign of pursuit, as he and Shran, dragging their heavy sledges, walked through the forest. They marched in silence, trying to put as much distance between them and the settlement as quickly as possible, but the sledges slowed them down considerably as they bumped heavily over the uneven terrain.

After about two hours, Shran came to a halt and held up his hand. "A short break, I think," he said, releasing his sledge's rope, which he'd fastened around his chest. He slid his pack from his back and sat on it before pulling his canteen off his belt. "Any sign of anyone following us?"

Reed, already free of pack and sledge, activated the scanner. "None," he said after performing a scan of the area behind them.

Shran took a deep drink of water, then said, "They'll be along soon."

It was the same conclusion Reed had reached. After the way Sharith had been acting, he couldn't help but expect someone to come after them. "I think so too. They won't let us get all the way back to the shuttle before they do something. And these pieces of metal are very much slowing us down."

He took a moment to drink several swallows of water from his own canteen. The humidity had shot up again, and he was perspiring heavily. It wouldn't do to become dehydrated, not given the lingering effects of his concussion. As if on cue, he felt a dull ache at his temples. He reached into his pack for the analgesic hypospray.

"Do you always self-medicate during covert missions?" Shran asked.

Reed could detect no trace of sarcasm in Shran's voice. More likely, he was trying, in his unique way, to make light of the situation. A glance at Shran showed that, while he wasn't smiling, there was a gleam in his eyes. "Only when I've dented my head," Reed answered as he injected the medication into his neck.

Shran laughed at that. As the Andorian took another drink from his canteen, Reed studied him. Shran had barely broken a sweat, but he did look tired. Carrying the heavy pack and dragging a cumbersome piece of metal probably wasn't making his back feel any better. Mindful of the Andorian's pride, Reed didn't say anything about it.

After one last scan for pursuers, they started off again. Reed mused that Shran was handling this portion of the mission well. Without discussing it, each of them had realized that pursuit was a given. There was also a total lack of the annoying complaints Shran had made on the walk into town, although Reed had noticed the Andorian's antennae waving more than usual; Shran was concentrating on their surroundings with an intensity he hadn't shown the day before. Reed was grateful for the silence, if only because it allowed him to listen for any sounds that might be out of place, difficult as that was with the constant slithering of the large sheets of metal as they bumped along the forest floor.

That thought had barely crossed his mind when the sharp snap of a twig breaking came from somewhere ahead of Shran. Reed mentally cursed. He'd been so busy checking behind them that he hadn't thought there might be an attack from the front. He'd failed to take into account that someone familiar with the densely forested area, and unburdened by heavy packs and large sheets of metal, could easily go around them undetected and set up an ambush. He hurried to catch up to Shran who, although his antennae were now aimed in the direction of the sound, had continued walking.

Reed didn't say a word; he just dipped his head slightly, indicating the direction of the sound.

"I know," Shran said softly, not breaking stride. "Besides the noise, there was a change in the air currents for a moment. If they were exposed, they've now taken cover."

Reed acknowledged this information with a curt nod. Much as he'd like to ask Shran what else those antennae could detect, now was neither the time nor the place. "We're walking into an ambush."

"I'd rather do something to surprise them."

Shran suddenly stopped and extended a hand to Reed. Startled, Reed automatically took it, and Shran pulled him close. Shran released the ridiculous metal piece, and at Shran's gesture, Reed followed suit. "Let them think we are engaged in a pleasurably distracting pastime," Shran whispered. "There's enough ground foliage that they can't see us. I will go one way, you the other. We will catch them between us."

"I do believe you like an audience," Reed murmured as he leaned in.

"I do believe I'm not the only one." The kiss lingered. One of Shran's hands moved behind and down, until it rested above the sore area.

"I am sorry about that," Shran said, then deepened the kiss. "I know it hurts you."

Reed fought for control. He wanted to sink into the warm breath, feel the heaviness of Shran's cool body above his. "Don't be. It is a constant reminder of great pleasure." He felt himself stirring at Shran's touch, at the memory.

"Slowly," Shran murmured, nipping at Reed's lip, and Reed backed off. "We need quietness—not like last night, when we needed the opposite."

They wound themselves around each other. Shran let his pack fall to the leaf-covered forest floor, then pulled Reed to the ground on top of him. For a brief moment, they lay body against body. Shran kissed him hard as his fingers dug into Reed's neck, and then he wiggled out from underneath and managed to pull his pack back on. And there it was again: his abrupt transformation from lover to commander.

Shran indicated his direction, then slithered away. Reed pulled out his phase pistol and began crawling in the other direction. He realized that he'd misjudged the Andorian. He already knew Shran could be sneaky as well as lightning quick, but he'd also come up with a plan on the spur of the moment that might get them out of this spot. It definitely was better than his own half-formed idea of hunkering down and waiting for whoever it was to come to them. And there was a bit of shame involved on his part too—he'd been taken off guard when Shran had grabbed him, and only his constant vigilance at keeping in character had saved him.

He shook his head, striving to concentrate on the task at hand. He considered taking a reading for biosigns with the scanner, but immediately dismissed it. The noise of its activation might give away his position. As it was, all he had to attempt to become the hunter instead of the hunted was the approximate location of a twig breaking. It had come from directly ahead of where Shran had been, so he angled away for a distance before turning back in a flanking maneuver. The whole time he inched along, he strained to hear anything that might be out of the ordinary, and tried not to notice how loud his breathing sounded in his ears.

He halted before breaking through a patch of bushes. Peering between the branches, he spotted a pair of boots sticking out of concealment halfway across the clearing. The wearer was sprawled on his stomach in the undergrowth, facing the direction from which he and Shran had been approaching. Sunlight streamed to the forest floor when a breeze ruffled the tree canopy, and Reed caught the glint of a long metal gun barrel. Suddenly the book in Sharith's establishment made sense, for the metal barrel was consistent with twentieth-century Earth rifles that used bullets as ammunition.

Reed reached into his pack and pulled out the first suitable object his hand encountered. After one heft to test the weight of the Vulcan scanner, he lobbed it across the clearing to the other side, where it landed with a dull thud.

The response was immediate. A quick spurt of gunfire sounded from where the person was concealed, loud and yet oddly punctuated. A silencer, Reed thought. He now had no doubt that whoever was after them meant to kill them. Even as he sprang to his feet, he understood that the other had reacted in an amateurish fashion. A trained killer would not fire indiscriminately at unidentified sounds, thus giving away his position.

Another report of gunfire came from farther away as Reed, running crouched over, closed on his unsuspecting target. Shran must have encountered another of their would-be assassins. Then, as his opponent clumsily got to his feet, Reed launched himself into the air. He barely had time to register that it was a human man of medium height and dressed much as the few people he'd seen in town before he crashed into him, and they both tumbled to the ground.

They rolled several times before Reed got a proper grip. He squeezed the struggling man's wrist, forcing him to drop his gun. Unfortunately, that meant the man shifted the focus of his struggle toward the gun Reed was holding, which he tried to push under Reed's chin. He wasn't much of a fighter, probably local hired help, Reed thought, but his own position was awkward as they fought for the gun. They wrestled for a few moments, neither gaining an edge, until the other man kneed Reed in the groin.

Reed involuntarily loosened his grip, enabling the other man to gain control of the gun. Reed desperately knocked the gun away from his face just before the other man pulled the trigger.

His opponent hadn't been expecting that move, for the gun barrel flew back toward him, its discharge striking him full in the chest. Reed scrambled from underneath him as he slumped. A quick survey of the man's status revealed him to be unconscious, not dead. Reed knew that a phase pistol set on stun shouldn't have killed him, but sometimes a discharge at close range could be fatal, and being wanted for murder on this planet would only complicate the mission. As it was, the man, who on closer inspection appeared to be of the same species as the blacksmith, would be out of commission for several hours before he recovered, and he and Shran should be well away from the area by then.

Despite being occupied with his own opponent, Reed had been listening for other sounds that might tell him what Shran was doing, and the lack of any further commotion worried him. He retrieved the Vulcan scanner, then set out quickly in the direction Shran had gone. There were plenty of trees and shrubs for concealment, but they also limited his field of view. The problem was going to be to avoid stumbling on someone else lurking in the area.

He hadn't gone far when he stopped, cocking his head to one side. He heard what sounded like speech. Two people. He resumed moving, more cautiously, following the sounds. He could pick out Shran's voice, loud and impatient, and another one, no less harsh.

He came up behind a tree at the edge of another small clearing. Peeking around it, he saw Shran held at gunpoint by a tall man with his back to Reed's location. Shran, blue blood dripping from a wound on his hand, appeared to be arguing with him. Under normal circumstances, that would have been an insane thing to do, but Shran's opponent appeared to be of the same caliber as Reed's, untrained and uncertain. Even from a distance, Reed could see that one of the man's arms was at an odd angle. Shran must have broken it before he'd been shot.

All this Reed took in as he broke cover and rushed up silently from behind. One good blow on the back of the head from the butt of his phase pistol, and the man went down, out cold at his feet.

"It's about time," Shran said as Reed reached down to turn the man on his back. "I was running out of things to argue with him about."

"You? With nothing to say?" Reed asked Shran while studying the downed man's face. This one was a Rigellian, if he wasn't mistaken. He straightened to look at Shran. "Do you think there are any more?"

"It was just the two of them. He told me that much." Shran grimaced as he inspected his injured hand. "He was waiting for his partner to show up with your dead body slung over his shoulder. I do believe they think us a pair of lovesick fools—as indeed was our cunning plan."

Reed ignored the last comment. "So much for hoping they were to merely detain us."

Shran sneered as he prodded the man with a foot. "This is probably the best they could come up with on short notice at that forsaken outpost we visited."

"Our inquiries about Shian Thrashinar set them after us." Reed couldn't bring himself to tie the man's hands, not with that broken arm. The pain when he woke would be excruciating, not to mention Reed could do further damage simply by moving the arm. "Either that, or whoever owned those fighter craft that crashed is out for payback."

"It could be either, or both. They're probably related," Shran said. "We should question this one to be sure, though." He suddenly looked sharply at Reed. "And you? How did you fare?"

"Better than you. I wasn't wounded," Reed said. He beckoned to Shran. "Let's have a look at your hand."

"It is superficial," Shran said, but he sat on a nearby tree trunk as Reed dug medical supplies out of his pack.

Shran was correct. The wound was not serious, just a shallow graze, but it had bled copiously. After a generous application of antiseptic, which barely made Shran wince but that Reed knew from personal experience stung like the devil, and a bandage, Reed did a full sweep of the area with the scanner, in case the man had lied about being the only ones pursuing them. He had just finished the scan when his head jerked up at the sharp sound of flesh forcibly striking flesh. Shran was standing over the Rigellian, whose eyes were fluttering open, a bright spot on his cheek where Shran had struck him with his undamaged hand.

Shran, his arm raised for another blow, was yelling at the man in Rigellian. Reed had picked up a smattering of that language during _Enterprise'_s journeys, and was able to make out that Shran was asking the man who had sent him, but the man didn't answer. Reed briefly wondered at Shran's seemingly easy facility with languages: English, Andorian, Rigellian, and how many others?

He shifted his weight as Shran continued to threaten the Rigellian. Physical violence wasn't Reed's preferred method of performing interrogations, but he held his tongue. Obvious disagreement between him and Shran could be perceived as a weakness by the captured man. Besides, he didn't particularly care to have another argument about who was in charge of the mission.

Shran struck the man again, who grunted and, after working his mouth, spat out a tooth. A fat trickle of purplish blood spilled from one lip.

"I have no problem with making you toothless," Shran warned, or at least that's what Reed thought he said. "Who sent you?"

He was raising his hand again when the man cried, "Sharith! Sharith sent us."

Shran lowered his arm. "The Andorian who owns the store?"

"Yes!"

"We already know that! Do you take us for fools?" Shran yelled, leaning down and grabbing the man by the collar. He yanked the man up, bringing their faces close together. "Who told Sharith to send you after us?"

"I'm...I'm not sure," came the stuttering reply.

Shran slammed the man back against a tree. His captive's head thudded dully on contact. Reed took a step forward, increasingly disturbed by Shran's easy use of violence. He wondered if this might qualify as a time when what Shran was doing went against his Starfleet oath, the only instance for disobedience that Archer had been able to give him. Before he could form a decision, the Rigellian sagged against Shran's hold, his broken arm dangling uselessly.

"Sharith works...for...another," the man gasped, Shran's grip on his collar cutting into his air supply.

"Who?" Shran bellowed.

When he didn't answer, Shran twisted the collar viciously. The man gargled, clawing at his throat with his good hand.

If this kept up, Reed would have to intervene. "Shran!" he hissed.

Without acknowledging that he'd heard, Shran loosened his grip fractionally. The man gulped in several lungsful of air. Speaking rapidly, as if afraid Shran might choke him again, he said, "He lives in the largest settlement. I don't know his name, only that he is an important businessman."

"And what is his business?" Shran asked in a deceptively silky tone.

"Everything," came the quick reply. "Supplies from off-world...credit...even medical care."

Shran considered the man for a moment. "I believe you," he said at last. He released his hold, and the man slid down the tree trunk to sit on the ground, crying out as his broken arm was jostled.

Reed let out a silent sigh of relief for his conscience as he turned away from the scene. The interrogation was over, and they'd obtained some information. He seriously doubted they'd have any more trouble with this man. He seemed sufficiently cowed. He'd probably slink back to the town—

A sharp phaser blast brought him spinning back around in surprise. Shran, holding a phase pistol, was staring in satisfaction at a smoking hole in the center in the Rigellian's chest.

Outraged, Reed yelled, "Why did you do that?"

"I am done with him," Shran snarled.

"There was no need to kill him!" Reed cried. "What harm could he have done?"

Shran held up his bandaged hand. "He had already harmed me, although not as badly as he intended! I have no doubt his superiors would have killed him for failure to carry out their orders." He picked up his pack. "He would thank me, were he able. The death I provided him was much quicker than he deserved."

Reed, speechless, stared at Shran. He had known that Andorians could carry a grudge—their century-long feud with the Vulcans was proof of that—but this was taking "an eye for an eye" retribution too far. And as far as Shran rationalizing that he had provided the man with a more merciful death than he would get from his superiors, there was no reason to believe the man would be killed by them.

As Shran stalked off into the forest, heading for the area where they'd left the large sheets of metal—the area where they had just stood twined together—Reed thought of the assailant he'd dispatched, unconscious until the effects of the phase pistol strike wore off. Shran hadn't asked about him, and Reed wasn't going to volunteer any information. Shran must have assumed he'd gotten rid of the other assassin with the same casual disregard that Shran had shown.

One more jarring realization hit Reed as he grabbed his own pack and hurried after Shran. Despite the time he'd spent with the Andorian, the intimacies they'd shared, he didn't really know Shran at all.

### CHAPTER 7

Shran didn't talk as they hefted their metal sheets and resumed hiking to the shuttle. His silence didn't bother Reed at all, for he didn't particularly want to talk either. The sooner they got back to the shuttle, the sooner they could fix it, and the sooner this misbegotten mission could be finished. Reed was beginning to believe it wouldn't be too soon to suit him.

The aggravation of his constant butting of heads with Shran was nothing compared to how appalled he was by Shran's callous taking of the would-be assassin's life. He never would have killed the Rigellian, at least not on purpose. There had been that awful moment when he'd thought the discharge from his phase pistol had killed his opponent. He'd been relieved to find that the man was still alive, although if he had died, Reed supposed he could have justified it as self-defense. And while it was true that the nature of covert ops often requiring neutralizing a subject, that didn't necessarily mean using deadly force—quite the opposite, in fact. Deaths could complicate missions. The whole idea of covert ops was secrecy. Leaving a trail of dead bodies ran contrary to that purpose.

Staring at Shran's back as they hiked through the forest, Reed reminded himself that Andorians were something of a warrior race, which meant they would react more violently than the majority of humans would. It would be easy for Reed to write off Shran's actions as a cultural difference, one that he could understand but not accept, and just move on.

But it didn't feel right to let it go at that, especially since he found that he wanted to overlook the incident for all the wrong reasons. It might be an acceptable practice among Andorians to kill those who tried to kill them, but while he had been shocked, he was also still inexplicably, unaccountably attracted to Shran. He shouldn't be, not now, not after Shran had killed a man for no reason that Reed could sanction. In Reed's eyes, that made Shran a cold-blooded murderer. And yet his body kept reminding him of how Shran's touch made him feel, and how he craved that touch again.

He wasn't sure Shran realized that the killing had disgusted him. Or maybe he did, and didn't care. That would be typical of the arrogant Imperial Guard commander. There was also a third possibility: Maybe Shran was compartmentalizing again, keeping the fatal incident relegated to something he did in the line of duty that had no bearing on his relationship with Reed, and vice versa.

More than likely, Shran would go on as if nothing had happened. Reed had to admit that would be the easiest thing to do. For his own self-esteem, however, Reed felt he had to make a decision: should he continue his intimacies with Shran, or break it off because of what he perceived as a fundamental difference between them? And if he did end it, what effect would that have on their working relationship? He thought they were both professional enough that their mission wouldn't be jeopardized, but it would make for some awkwardness. At least for himself, he thought bitterly. Shran didn't seem to have a problem with keeping his own feelings, except for the more volatile ones, locked away.

Reed hadn't decided one way or the other by the time they reached the shuttle several hours later. Without a word between them, they immediately rearmed the perimeter sensors. Reed was reassured to see that they were still on the same wavelength as far as certain matters went, and after the earlier attack, it would be foolish to ignore the possibility of another attempt on their lives. Once a secure perimeter was established, they went inside the shuttle. They hadn't eaten anything since that morning, and a rest break and something to eat was in order before they began repairs.

They were halfway through their ration bars when Shran broke the silence. "How long?"

Reed, lost in his own thoughts, looked up with a frown. "Excuse me? How long what?"

"How long to effect repairs and be on our way?"

"Oh. Roughly a day."

With a grunt of distaste, Shran threw away his half-eaten ration bar and began pulling items out of his pack. In addition to the welding kit and some of the scrounged pieces of equipment from the bartender's shop, Shran had managed to retain one of the bottles of ale he'd lugged all the way to the settlement. He uncorked it and, without going to the trouble of obtaining a glass, took several long swallows directly from the bottle. He sighed deeply when he'd finished, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

"Care to join me?" Shran asked, his hard gaze asking Reed to join him in something else entirely.

The steely glint in the Andorian's eyes was too similar for Reed's liking to what he'd seen in them after the Rigellian had been killed. The ration bar he was eating suddenly tasted like sawdust. He spat a mouthful back into the wrapper, which he wadded up and threw in the disposal chute. "No, thank you." He stalked out of the shuttle, grabbing his pack, which he'd left by the hatch.

He stopped outside, where they'd propped the sheets of metal against the shuttle. It would be dark in another hour or so, but there was enough light for him to make preliminary measurements for fitting the metal to the hull. As he worked, he kept listening for Shran. He half expected the Andorian to follow him outside, but he remained in the shuttle. Reed could only hope that Shran was working on repairs, not guzzling more of the ale. The mood he was in, it would really anger him if Shran was sitting inside, feet up, taking his ease, while Reed was working.

Reed worked quickly, trying to get as much done as he could before the light faded, but his thoughts kept wandering back to Shran. It was obvious what Shran had in mind when he'd asked him to join him. Was Shran one of those people for whom violence was a turn-on? Reed shook his head. He couldn't believe that of Shran. Despite their differences, he'd never seen Shran inflict pain or take actions to hurt another simply for his own gratification. But where Shran seemed to see things in black and white, Reed was often confronted by shades of gray. Such was the nature of covert ops work, where things weren't always as they appeared.

Those men who had attacked them were a good example. They weren't really their enemies. In a way, Reed could sympathize with them. They'd probably been offered a fair amount of money or other payment that would make their miserable lives a little easier. There was also the possibility that they'd been coerced into making the attack. Perhaps their loved ones had been threatened—

Reed broke off with a curse. There was no sense speculating. Suffice it to note that the men weren't trained killers. He and Shran, both highly trained soldiers, could have sent them packing with no harm to their mission. Whoever really was after him and Shran already knew they were here. To Reed's way of thinking, killing the Rigellian might only make their mission more difficult. Not only had they thwarted the attack on them, which upset the plans of whoever wanted them dead, but they'd probably angered the townspeople by killing one of their own. Not that Reed was expecting that they'd have to return to the town, but it was an option he would have liked to remain available.

He worked for a time, his thoughts continuing in the same vein, until he found himself squinting in the increasingly dim light. He'd prepared the hull, but he needed Shran to help him by holding the large sheet in place while he welded—and he didn't much feel like working with Shran at the moment. Still, it was time to go back inside the shuttle. Much as he'd like to stay outside where he could be alone, he knew he couldn't avoid Shran.

* * *

To Reed's relief, Shran seemed just as anxious as he was to get the shuttle fixed and be on their way. They worked on the shuttle's interior systems throughout the night, taking a short break for sleep shortly before dawn. Although Reed was simultaneously dreading and craving another intimate encounter with Shran, the Andorian didn't make any overtures along that line. If anything, Reed got the impression that Shran was waiting for him to make the next move. Still conflicted, Reed drifted off to sleep, his dreams punctuated by visions of Shran standing over dead bodies, gun in hand, leering at him.

Reed gave up after a few hours of restless slumber. He awoke early and was working on the navigation controls, flashlight held in his mouth, when Shran opened his eyes.

"You should have woken me," Shran said, rolling out of bed and stretching.

Reed withdrew the tip of the tool he was using on the console, then removed the flashlight from his mouth. "No sense in both of us being tired," Reed responded tersely, barely glancing up. "I was going to wake you shortly, in any case." He returned the flashlight to his mouth and focused his gaze on a relay board, but he was aware of Shran's scrutiny. After what seemed like an interminable time, Shran looked away, and Reed breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Shran began pawing through the food storage bin. "Have you eaten?"

"No." Reed shook his head. "I'm not hungry." He replaced the relay board and leaned against the bulkhead, suddenly tired. Again he felt Shran's eyes on him, but he refused to look in the other man's direction. Instead, he fussed with his flashlight, turning it off and stowing it in a toolbox. His head jerked up, however, when he heard the sound of the medical scanner being activated. Shran was aiming the device in his direction. "I'm perfectly fine," Reed informed him.

Shran made a noncommittal noise and shut off the scanner. "As these readings confirm. I thought perhaps you were having a relapse of your concussion."

Reed raised an eyebrow.

"You say you aren't hungry," Shran said. "And you definitely don't show any interest in...our nocturnal activities. That seems very unlike you."

Reed closed his eyes. He'd been hoping to avoid this. Maybe he still could. "We need to concentrate on our mission," he said. He opened his eyes and looked levelly at Shran. "We've wasted enough time. For all we know, Shian Thrashinar may no longer be on this planet."

"For all we know," Shran repeated, his smile indicating that he knew Reed was sidestepping the real issue. His expression became thoughtful. "But we do know that our ultimate goal—the people he's been giving the research data to—are here on this planet. That powerful businessman comes to mind. Why else would someone try to kill us?" He studied Reed for a few moments, then clapped his hands together. "There is still much to do. It is as you say. We should get back to work." He raised the lights, making Reed blink in the sudden glare.

As Reed returned to work on the nav controls that were connected to the helm console, Shran went to work on the engine at the back of the shuttle. By the time the sun had fully lifted above the treetops—quite a few hours later, considering the trees were so tall—the helm and navigation controls had been repaired, Reed had fixed the universal translator with a component from a Vulcan piece of equipment he'd taken from the storeroom, Shran was making some adjustments to the jury-rigged propulsion system, and Reed was ready, if Shran could help him, to go back outside and affix the metal patches. Throughout the morning, they'd each worked alone, but Reed was going to need help with the welding. He'd managed to avoid extraneous conversation with Shran, speaking only about what needed to be done, but that had been mainly because they'd been at opposite ends of the shuttle. Now they'd be in close proximity. If he was lucky, Shran wouldn't bring anything up other than the work at hand. Judging from the curious glances Shran kept throwing his way as they went outside, however, Reed doubted that.

"After we're done out here," he said as he handed over one of the metal pieces to Shran, "we'll need to seal the areas from the inside." He gestured toward the largest crack in the shuttle's hull. "Hold it over that, would you?"

Shran put down the metal sheet, pulled on a pair of work gloves, and picked up the sheet again. He used his hands and his body weight to hold it in place. When Reed reached out to reposition the metal more to his liking, one of Shran's gloved hands shot out to hold Reed's in place. Reed stared at his hand trapped under Shran's, unwilling to look at the other man's face for fear of what he'd see there. The heavy metal started to slide. Shran increased the pressure over his hand.

"You've been acting very strangely since we got back to the shuttle," Shran said softly, close to his ear. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you didn't like me."

The most inane of thoughts popped into Reed's head: What would Archer do in this situation? The answer came immediately: Archer wouldn't have gotten himself into this situation. And even if he had, he'd try to take control of it. That was precisely what Reed needed to do.

Slowly, carefully, he drew his hand out from under Shran's. He lifted his gaze to the Andorian's. "I find I like you all too well," he said candidly. "But I do not like some things you do. And then I find I dislike myself for liking you."

Shran frowned. "I see," he said, immediately followed by, "No, I do not see."

"You killed the Rigellian," Reed said. "There was no need to do that. I would prefer not to want...what I want...with someone who can do that."

"Ah," Shran said, as if he suddenly understood. "You find me unpredictable. I assure you, I have no plans to kill you."

As far as Reed could tell, Shran was perfectly serious and not making a joke. "That's not reassuring," he said as he hopped off the stone he was using as a stepladder. Shran continued to hold the large piece of metal in place, but his attention was all on Reed. Much as he dreaded it, it looked like it was time to clear the air. "Do put that down if you'd prefer to talk, Shran. It's heavy."

"Thank you." Shran let Reed heft the piece of metal, and the two of them guided it to the ground, propping it against the shuttle. It was more awkward than heavy. "Of course, you realize I have some of the same thoughts about you. Permitting our other assailant to go free?"

"He was unconscious and would be for hours. We would be long gone," Reed protested.

"Anyone can track us. Those pieces of metal we had to drag left quite a trail."

"That argument is spurious. We told Sharith and several others where our ship was when they asked about salvage." Reed found he had crossed his arms and was yelling. He forced his arms down. He didn't want his body language to wall off Shran when they were finally having an actual conversation. Once again, Reed thought bitterly, he was the one who had to bend, who had to make a concession and start the conversation. Shran was too proud—or too uninterested—to do the same.

Shran held up a warning hand. "Permit me to summarize. You do not like taking a man as a lover who is so cold—so callous, I should say," he amended quickly, aware of the pun. At Reed's nod, he continued. "And I do not like taking a man as a lover who lets emotion run away with him, who cannot separate his duty to his commander from his duty to his lover. Despite this, I find many of your qualities admirable. I shall not number them here, to save time."

"Thank you so much," Reed murmured ironically, even as he wondered exactly what qualities Shran had in mind. Shran, for his part, ignored both the comment and the sarcasm.

"And of course you feel the same about me." Reed rolled his eyes as Shran continued doggedly, "I think what we are both realizing is that the other is alien. We are each products of our species and of our culture. Surely some misunderstanding is to be expected."

"Your summary is very helpful," Reed said. How could he put into words how he felt? "But—"

Shran raised an eyebrow expectantly. "Yes?"

Reed found himself searching for words. "But I do not feel like I can trust you. If you disappeared, or betrayed me, or—or took Sharith as your lover—"

Shran threw up his hands, indicating that the latter possibility would not be entertained.

"—I would admit that I would not be very surprised," Reed concluded. "However, if you can kill someone who is no threat to you, when it confers no real tactical advantage, then you _can_ betray me. And this mission. It's not just that you and your motives are alien. Of course that's the case. It's just that they defy reason."

"Your logic is convoluted, but I acknowledge the feeling behind your words," Shran said, almost formally. "I assure you. I do not know how to make you believe it. I will not kill you in your sleep. I will not betray you." His voice was firm, and he held Reed's eyes with his own. Even his antennae had stopped their wandering, instead merely twitching at the tips. "I did not kill him merely because I did not need him any more—I killed him as a warning that Sharith and whoever he reports to would understand."

He stepped close and put a hand on Reed's chest, lightly, fingers outspread, his skin pale and blue. "I may humiliate you. I may deliberately place you in situations where you must be seen to defer to me. Consider that part of my...sense of humor. But I will defend your life with my own. Do you doubt that? Can you look me in the eye and tell me that you trust me that little?" He leaned in, lips hovering close to Reed's.

"I don't doubt it," Reed admitted, speaking the truth and knowing that Shran's proximity affected his answer. "But you do whatever you like in the name of the mission. I don't approve of some of these things. Like the death of the Rigellian."

"I will not ask your permission before I take action that I perceive as necessary," Shran warned. "But I have noticed that you do the same thing. We cannot agree. I understand that, even if you cannot." His hand, still resting on Reed's chest, slid up and around to cup Reed's neck. "Covert missions are the most difficult, and I know I am not making it easier for you. But I will remember the night we shared in Sharith's bed for the rest of my life."

Just the memory of it made Reed's breath hitch. Shran pressed his advantage. "You can trust me. Don't listen to your mind. Listen to your body." His lips grazed Reed's. "What does your body tell you?" he whispered.

Reed's body blazed heat in anticipation of Shran's touch. "I think you know."

"Then take what you want," Shran invited.

Reed pulled Shran to him in a rough kiss as he began unfastening Shran's shirt. He pushed Shran against the shuttle, using both his hands and mouth.

They didn't fully remove their clothes; unfastened shirts and trousers provided access, and Reed found that he liked seeing Shran's nudity framed by the clothes, as though only the vestiges of civilization remained. When they were both in a fever pitch of excitement, with kisses giving way to biting and low cries of need, Reed leaned against Shran and roughly stroked their erections together, until Shran cried out and clung to him. His reaction drove Reed over the edge, and his mouth found Shran's as he climaxed hard, rubbing the tip of his penis against Shran's cool body as he spurted again and again.

Frantic kisses turned slow as they caught their breath, tongues twining together. Even in the heat of passion, under a bright sun, leaning against the increasingly hot metal of the shuttle's skin, Shran's body temperature stayed distinctly cool to the touch. Reed found he liked it, even though sweat made them both clammy.

"I want to know you," he told Shran, apropos of nothing. "I want to understand you. But I can't."

"Ah. Then you know how I feel about you." Shran gave him one last, lingering kiss. "I believe we were repairing the external skin."

Shran's shift from lover to something else didn't strike Reed as being as abrupt as usual. In fact, he didn't even find it all that disconcerting. Clearing the air between them had certainly helped, and needless to say, they both were aware of the clock ticking on their mission. Reed hoped they both didn't come to regret taking the time for a pleasant interlude when they should have been repairing the shuttle.

He tugged his trousers up and fastened them, but he left his shirt open. He found he liked the way Shran's eyes followed him. Of course nothing had changed, but Shran had a valid point: Andorians weren't small, blue, belligerent humans. They were a wholly different race, with different biological imperatives and a different culture built around those imperatives. If Shran said he had killed the Rigellian because it would help their mission where Sharith was concerned, Reed had to accept it; he had no choice. But it wasn't just the sex. He now knew he trusted Shran with his life, even as he knew that he wouldn't necessarily approve of what Shran might do. He also knew, because he'd seen it, that to complete a mission, Shran would do virtually anything: bed Reed, humiliate Reed, kill a soldier. Reed would have made different choices, but for both of them, the mission was everything.

Shran was right, he decided, as Shran, cleaned up and buttoned into his shirt, once again donned gloves and hefted up the piece of metal. He would listen to his body. Like Shran, he would remember the night at Sharith's for the rest of his life.

The welding went well. After the second piece had been tacked into place, Reed used a tool to seal the edges with high-intensity heat. When it had cooled somewhat, Shran, working from the interior, applied a foam sealant. They had to dismantle the bulkhead panels to permit Shran to reach the areas that required patching, and the foam smelled terrible in the enclosed space. They had only two canisters of foam—barely enough to complete the repair—but at last it was done. The shuttle would fly, but only just. They couldn't leave the atmosphere, and it would be best if they didn't fly too high for a day or so, until the welding seals and the foam had time to cure. Reed didn't trust the cold, low-pressure air higher in the atmosphere.

Reed was counting down time mentally. He thought the man he'd stunned would be out for six to eight hours. Give him two hours to realize that his companion was dead, another hour or so to get back to the settlement—they could be here at any time, and in fact, he was surprised they weren't. Maybe they were hanging back, watching with binoculars, but if so, they were quite far back because the proximity alarms hadn't gone off.

"We're a day ahead of your schedule," Shran observed as they manhandled the interior panels back into place.

"We can fly, but only just." Reed grunted as he forced a panel into place. "We're right on schedule for the repairs. We've just completed the bare minimum to leave if we need to. But where we're to go, I've no idea."

Shran hefted the last panel and waited for Reed to step out of the way. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked peevishly.

"I expect company at any time," Reed said, moving aside. "And you said you sent a message to Sharith by killing the Rigellian." He found that he clung to that idea, because it gave a reason for what appeared to be a cold and senseless killing.

"I did say that, didn't I?" Shran centered the bottom of the panel and snapped it into place with a single push. He wiped his hands on his trousers. "That's done. We ought to bring everything inside, in case we have to leave suddenly."

"I've stacked it by the hatch." Reed nodded at the open door.

"Excellent. Such foresight." Shran headed for the hatch. The light breeze entering the shuttle failed to stir the remnants of the stench of the foam sealant, which hung like a miasma over the interior.

"Are you going to tell me what you have planned?" Reed prodded.

"I thought we'd get Sharith to show us the way," Shran said. "I attempted to trace communications from the settlement. I assume Sharith contacted his superiors when they found the dead body of the Rigellian. We could cross-reference that with transmissions made about the time of our visit to Sharith's establishment, and cross-reference again with the date and time of our crash."

"You'd have to remotely access and decrypt their logs, and we can't do that with our failed equipment," Reed pointed out.

"As I soon learned when I tried it. So we'll have to get Sharith ourselves. I imagine he and his henchmen are watching us by now. Likely they are waiting for the cover of night."

Reed sighed. He'd reached the same conclusion about their pursuers. "So we wait for them to rush the shuttle, then pick out Sharith and blast off?"

"Certainly not. We might get injured."

Reed had to laugh at Shran's wounded expression. "I take it you want to get Sharith?"

"That strikes me as the best plan."

Reed glanced at the blue sky visible from the doorway. "I'll set some booby traps," he decided. "But the proximity alarms haven't gone off. He may not even have followed us."

"I find that very unlikely. One Andorian knows another. He will be desperate to save face, to prove himself worthy of his employer. That means capturing or killing us."

Reed sighed. "I don't like this," he admitted. "Sharith is hardly a criminal mastermind. At best, he's a disreputable voyeur."

"He is all we have," Shran pointed out. "I admit it would be more sporting if we were evenly matched. Instead, we will have to settle for them outnumbering us."

"I assume you have an idea for finding Sharith." Reed made it a statement, not a question.

"Indeed I do."

* * *

The shuttle's sensors weren't any better than the handheld remotes they'd positioned outside as the perimeter alarm. Reed squinted at the horizon. They'd chosen the moment carefully, to ensure that eyes watching them would be blinded by the sun. The hard part had been leaving unseen—assuming, Reed thought ruefully to himself, that the two of them were under surveillance, as they suspected. If they had to go back to the settlement to get Sharith, they would, but Reed didn't relish the long walk in the dark of night over uneven terrain, even with night vision. They had each taken a brief nap; the very long days meant that after hatching their plan, they'd had to wait for ten hours before the sun began to set. They'd used the time wisely, refining their plan and preparing equipment, but every moment, Reed expected an attack—an attack that hadn't come. He'd been alternately nervous and on edge, and sleepy.

Now well behind the tree line, Reed knelt. Ears pricked, every sense on alert, he counted down ten long, excruciating minutes, starting slightly at every faint noise. The sun finally dipped below the horizon, and twilight gave way to full dark. With one last look toward the shuttle, Reed opened the bag he carried and pulled out an EV suit helmet. He tucked the now-empty bag into his backpack, then hefted the unwieldy helmet. At least he didn't have to wear the entire suit, he thought to himself.

He pulled the helmet over his head and centered it. It was made to attach to the shoulders of the suit, so it wobbled around more freely than he liked, but they didn't have night-vision goggles, and this was the best they could knock together on such short notice. He blew to activate the helmet's sensors. As seen through the helmet's faceplate, the darkened forest around him suddenly sprung into sharp relief. He could see every leaf on every tree, and when he gazed up into the sky, it looked bleached, gray streaked with white. Stars weren't visible in infrared; the atmosphere was too thick. He next looked at the ground, grabbing the neck opening of the helmet to keep it from wobbling too much. The helmet's software kept up with the relatively quick motion of his head. The ground looked like it was in shadow, but he could see knots of tree roots and piles of shrubby plants and leaves. He could see well enough to keep his footing. It would do.

"On," he said quietly to activate the communications unit. "Shran."

"Here." Shran's voice emitted from a small speaker just above each ear, making Shran sound weirdly stereophonic.

"Ready."

"Ready. Out."

"Out." The word automatically shut down the helmet's communication system. Reed could evoke it again with a word, or with a click of his tongue.

He had tucked the handheld scanner in his backpack, for the helmet made it unnecessary. Shran had programmed both helmets to signal the perimeter alarms that they were friendly so they wouldn't set them off. His phase pistol, on the other hand, was easily available. In its holster at his side, it was set to stun. They needed Sharith alive.

"Scan," he told the helmet, and he turned right to begin his sweep.

He slowly and painstakingly made his way around the shuttle, about five meters beyond the perimeter sensors. He heard a sharp sound that made him freeze, but it was just the small explosive device he'd set to go off in the shuttle, to make it sound like they were still in there, working. It hadn't been loud at this distance from the shuttle, but his helmet had magnified it.

He had made a quarter of his sweep when his helmet's com activated. "Reed," Shran's voice said quietly. "I have five humanoids in sight. Sending coordinates."

The latitude and longitude flickered in the upper right of his helmet's view, glowing a dark amber.

"None here. Do you want backup?"

"Yes. One is Andorian. I assume it is Sharith. They are stationary. I am fifteen meters east of them."

"Understood. Out."

He quickened his pace but kept his eye out for more people. He cut across the perimeter, keeping behind the tree line, abandoning his careful search pattern. He half-expected the perimeter alarms to go off when he broke the imaginary line, but of course the improvised sensor web recognized his signal and didn't. He was still a few minutes away when Shran's voice said, "Reed. They are mobilizing and preparing to move," and a second later, the perimeter alarm wailed, startling Reed even though he'd been expecting it. Their watchers had reached sensor range.

It took Reed a moment to dampen the sound via his helmet, but the alarm also meant he didn't have to choose his footing so carefully. He broke into a jog, keeping one eye on the helmet's telltales to stay on course. A minute later, he quickly halted when flares of red, blue, and yellow blazed across his field of vision. The helmet's heat sensors fine-tuned the image, highlighting four distinct bodies heading toward the shuttle. Their stumbling progress indicated that they had no special night-vision technology, which gave Reed and Shran a distinct advantage.

One of the five Shran had reported was missing; Reed left him to Shran, and continued to follow the others. Reed picked the shortest one, whom he suspected was Sharith, as his target.

Their opponents didn't seem aware that Shran and Reed weren't in the shuttle. Reed knew that the shuttle's lights would have come up when the perimeter alarm sounded, as if the occupants were reacting to the alarm. Two minutes after the alarm sounded, it abruptly cut off: a further attempt to make it seem as though they were inside the shuttle and had shut it down.

He followed the four figures as they closed in on the shuttle. Three split off and headed around obliquely, so Reed stayed back. He didn't follow; instead, he kept his eyes on the short figure, which had hunkered down behind a handy tree just within sight of the shuttle and showed every indication of staying there. It had to be Sharith, who was in charge, Reed thought drily. The hired hulks were going to do the dirty work.

Reed heard another, louder explosion and a cry. No doubt one of the three who had gone ahead had tried to push aside the flimsy piece of plastic that blocked the direct route to the hatch. That would detonate a sonic grenade—not lethal, but it would certainly knock someone unconscious for a few hours. Reed couldn't confirm that the explosion had taken out all three figures, but it had probably taken out one, maybe two. In any case, it was time for him to strike. A few quick steps, and he had an arm around the short figure's neck.

"Sharith," he whispered, pleased, as the Andorian's antennae frantically waved. "How nice to see you again." He heard a yell, then the sound of phaser fire, followed by a thump, unmistakably that of a body heavily hitting the ground. "That will be my consort, Shran," he informed Sharith. "He is a very good shot."

"Gah," Sharith gasped, but Reed did not loosen his grip. He couldn't risk Sharith crying out.

Sharith fought for breath as Reed said, "On." At Shran's response over the com, Reed said, "I have Sharith alive." With the blink of an eye to activate a transmitter, he sent his coordinates to Shran's helmet.

Shran sounded terse. "Stay with him. Do not stun him. I have neutralized one."

"There is one, maybe two, still at large."

"Understood. Checking the shuttle now. Out."

Reed kept an unyielding arm around Sharith's throat. "You can talk, you know," he said conversationally. "Well—you can whisper, at any rate. I don't have the universal translator in the shuttle linked to my helmet's com at the moment—but I do believe that you speak English." Sharith gave an abortive wriggle. "Now, now," Reed admonished, increasing the pressure and lifting Sharith up. Luckily Sharith was short enough that this did the trick. "We need the location of your employer, whom we do not believe to be local," he told Sharith.

Sharith muttered something in Andorian. When Reed yanked his arm tighter around his neck, Sharith gasped. "You—shuttle—no work right."

"Will work well enough to get us there," Reed finished for him. "You will accompany us. We just need a short chat. No one need get hurt. But my consort—I'm afraid he's ex-Imperial Guard. He got tossed out for something or other. He's a bit vague on the details."

Sharith made a noise that might have been a groan, or a sob. Whether he understood what he'd been told or was merely reacting to his predicament, Reed couldn't tell.

"Unless you want to go the way of your Rigellian hired hand, I suggest you cooperate with us," Reed said persuasively. It didn't really matter if Sharith understood him; his tone should give the other man a good indication of what was wanted. "Then we might let you keep your head. But I'm getting ahead of myself. My consort prefers to perform interrogations himself. Apparently he has particular expertise in that matter."

Abruptly, he let Sharith down, then kicked the Andorian's legs out from under him, sending him sprawling. A moment later, Reed was sitting on his back, binding his hands with a plastic tie. His legs were next. Then Reed gagged him, for the psychological effect as much as to keep him quiet, and settled in to wait.

When Shran strolled up a half-hour later, he found Reed sitting on Sharith, the contents of Sharith's pockets in a small pile in the leaf litter in front of him. "Success?" Reed asked, taking off his helmet now that all the opposition had been neutralized. Shran wouldn't be here if it hadn't.

"Of course. The trap at the shuttle took out one of the remaining three. I quickly dispatched the other two," Shran answered, removing his helmet. They had fallen into character automatically. Reed now understood how to handle covert ops with Shran: let Shran be dominant.

"He speaks some English," Reed said conversationally, "but not well. It would be best if we used the universal translator." He activated the proper link in the helmet. "And look what I found in his pocket. Most interesting." The small speakers in the helmet translated his comments into Andorian, loud enough to be heard by Sharith, who jerked his head in the direction of the helmet.

Reed tossed a padd, which Shran caught in midair and then activated. "Oh, my," Shran said, antennae waving. "This is...explicit."

"There's sound as well," Reed said. "It appears to have been taken from the vicinity of the windowsill in Sharith's bedroom."

"I hadn't realized what the contrast in our skin colors looked like from afar," Shran said approvingly. "May I keep this? Yes? A little memento of our trip here. How sweet."

"I had thought perhaps he wished to blackmail us, but I can't imagine who would be surprised by it," Reed said dismissively. "I must therefore assume it was for his private viewing pleasure."

"We may have a future in interspecies pornography." Shran sounded thoughtful. He tucked the padd into a pocket. "But I'm afraid I don't have time to discuss career prospects just now. Let him up, would you, Reed?"

Reed obediently stood up and hauled Sharith to his feet. "Allow me," he said, untying the gag. "A bit of water, I think." He pulled a canteen off his backpack and unstoppered it. In the half light, Sharith's eyes looked like black pits in his pale face: Andorian eyes did not reflect light, something Reed found eerie. He fed Sharith a few sips of water. "I was just mentioning to Sharith that you'd been cashiered from the Imperial Guard," he told Shran, which caused Sharith to sputter and cough. Maybe Sharith hadn't understood him earlier; the revelation that a captor was a former Guard member was reason enough to shake any Andorian prisoner. Reed pounded Sharith on the back as he bent over double, gasping and clearly miserable. "Maybe you'd like to tell him why, because you won't tell me."

"Ah, I prefer to keep some things to myself." Shran grabbed Reed's head, fingers twining in hair, and pulled him close for a quick kiss, followed by a lingering one.

Reed could sense Shran's approval of his ploy. The mere mention of the Imperial Guard had Sharith quaking. It was also a plausible explanation for Shran's obvious skills, something that Reed had worried might give them away.

"We don't have much time," Shran said.

Reed faded back, letting Shran run the show.

"The name of your employer, plus coordinates," Shran said. "As you know, we're looking for Shian Thrashinar. Things were fine with us the other day until I mentioned that name. Is Shian Thrashinar the name of your employer?"

"I—I—I—" Sharith essayed.

Shran sighed. "Would you prefer to go the way of your Rigellian friend?" Suddenly his phase pistol was out, tucked under Sharith's chin. Sharith's antennae whipped wildly in distress. "You are quite overmatched," said Shran, switching to Andorian to be better understood. The helmet speaker dutifully offered the words back in English, so Reed had no difficulty following. "You do not seem to understand that I do not need you. If you do not give me the name and the coordinates, then I will obtain them by walking to the settlement, tonight, and ripping apart your store. My consort is particularly good with electronic equipment. As a member of the Brotherhood of Electronic Arts, he can resurrect data that engineers swore was gone forever. A few hours' work will find the information for us. I would prefer to use those few hours more profitably. You know I have no compunction about killing you. But I am just as happy not to. If you tell me what I want to know." Shran took a step closer, his voice ominous. "The name. The coordinates. Now."

Sharith closed his eyes. "You were right," he said in Andorian. "Shian Thrashinar. He ordered your shuttle shot down. I'm only involved because you came down in my grid."

"Coordinates," Shran repeated testily.

Sharith gulped. "Grid 9, building 4."

Shran exhaled heavily in satisfaction. "Thank you," he said. "You have just bought your life." He stepped back, then squeezed the trigger. He caught Sharith's body as it crumpled and eased it to the ground. "It was on stun," he assured Reed. "As it was when I took out the rest of the team. They are all neatly trussed up with your ties. And you have to admit that the dead Rigellian convinced our friend here to be more forthcoming. As I said, I sent a message."

Reed didn't want to respond to Shran's comment about the Rigellian. It was still a sore point for him. "The address Sharith gave us is valid," he reported, looking up from the padd. "I suppose we ought to take him with us. If his intel is bad, we'll need him, and—"

"—and we don't want him warning Shian," Shran finished. "Much as I hate to bring him along, I agree. We can keep him stunned or gagged." He turned, replaced his helmet, and began striding toward the shuttle. "Reed, do bring him along," he ordered, voice muffled. "My back is still sore."

Reed sighed as he reattached his water bottle to his backpack, then shrugged it on. He leaned down, hoisted Sharith over one shoulder, grabbed his own helmet, and staggered after Shran.

### CHAPTER 8

"What if he wakes up?" Reed whispered.

"He's been awake for the last ten minutes," Shran murmured as he kissed Reed's ear. "Do it for the mission. Do it for our cover. Do it...for me."

Reed huffed a laugh as he pulled away long enough to drop his trousers to the deck. A quick look at Sharith showed him to be apparently deeply asleep, still stunned. His eyelids didn't quiver. He lay on his stomach, bound hands behind his back. His head was turned toward them. Even his antennae were quiet, and Reed had noticed that Andorians seemed unable to control their antennae. If Sharith was awake, he had an amazing ability to feign sleep.

They'd landed near grid 9, building 4, in the largest city on the planet—which on Earth would barely have qualified as a hamlet. To Reed's amazement, the trip had gone uneventfully. They had kept low, the better to keep the hull patches from failing. Flying had required all of Reed's attention for three hours, and he'd kept Shran hopping with requests for a repaired relay or a replaced circuit. They hadn't been hailed, even when they'd made a poor landing. Reed was far more used to busy planets, like the commerce planet and Earth, where unannounced arrivals were treated with great suspicion—and with official escorts bristling with weaponry. They'd finally made their destination, and it was still the middle of the night. They'd have to wait for Sharith to wake up to complete their admittedly simple plan. But, as Shran had pointed out, simple was often best, and he for one didn't feel like organizing a raiding party.

"I think you know what I want," Shran said, a little too loudly, Reed thought. He'd have to tell Shran later that the universal translator, at least in the shuttle, could pick up sound quite well and from any direction.

Reed hesitated for just a split second, then made his decision. He'd had the best sex of his life when he'd known he was probably being recorded—and he had been, as the recording Reed had taken from Sharith, and which had been confiscated by Shran, had indicated. He'd had sex with Shran for Sharith's benefit, and the exhibitionist in him had reveled in it. He could certainly do so again. Did it matter if Sharith was awake or not? And what it said about Reed...well, that was a thought best left alone.

Reed knelt between Shran's legs, steadying Shran's body as it pivoted slightly in the pilot's chair. He undid Shran's trousers and pulled out Shran's dusky blue erection. Unlike humans, Andorians didn't have pubic hair. Nor did Shran have visible testicles, which, Reed knew from the medical scanner, were inside Shran's body. Despite these differences, Reed found Andorian physiology familiar enough. He shuffled around on his knees, wearing only his unbuttoned shirt, to ensure that Sharith had a good view.

"It's all right, Sharith. You can watch. I know you like to watch," he said tauntingly, and the Andorian's antennae quivered, although his eyes remained stubbornly closed. "Suit yourself," he said as he bent his head.

He'd performed fellatio on Shran before as foreplay, not with intent to make him climax. Shran's penis felt thick and heavy, but instead of being hot, it felt merely warm. He found that if he took Shran in his mouth and rested his tongue against the shaft, he could feel the faint pulse of blood—or maybe it was his imagination, because his own erection throbbed. Shran tasted of cool sweat and salt. He laved Shran's penis with his mouth, then stroked it with his cheek, then pulled it into his mouth again and sucked hard, imaging what it looked like to Sharith. He sped up as his own excitement increased, and when Shran's hand closed on his head and pushed him down, he took Shran in as deeply as he could. He moaned in excitement, eyes closed, as he sucked frantically, until Shran said, "Malcolm," and lifted his hips, driving himself yet deeper. He came in a single, long arc of bitter salt that Reed swallowed. Hand smoothing Reed's hair soothingly, Shran relaxed and said something in Andorian, something Reed remembered him saying after sex, and the universal translator obediently murmured, "My love, oh my love."

Reed, amazed, released Shran, who seemed unaware of the enormity of those words, or their effect on Reed. He clambered onto Shran's lap, knees resting on Shran's thighs. He was aware of Sharith, so he could not say anything. Instead, he touched Shran's temples with his thumbs, sought Shran's eyes, and repeated the syllables Shran had uttered. He knew it was probably just a term of casual affection, like "dear" or "honey," or something said during sex, like "my god," but Shran had called him "Malcolm," and surely that meant something.

"My love, oh my love," the universal translator said again, this time responding to Reed's words.

Shran, eyes dark and sated, touched his cheek and kissed him. If the words gave him any pause, he did not show it. "Such pleasure," he murmured in Andorian, the universal translator echoing words that Reed found he could understand by their tone alone. "Only with you, my love. Such pleasure."

Reed, head whirling, leaned into him as their mouths wound together, Reed's demanding and Shran's lazy. "Tell me you need me," he pleaded as he shrugged his shirt halfway off, so it fell from his shoulders and draped off his arms and down his back. He found he meant what he said. He had become his character; his covert ops character was made flesh.

"I need only you, Malcolm," Shran said intensely. "It's only you I want. No other consort. No other man. With you by my side—"

Reed cut him off with a kiss. He settled his legs next to Shran's more comfortably in the pilot's chair, then reared up so his chest was pressed against Shran's face. Shran kissed, then bit, then bit again, harder, when Reed reacted with a sharply indrawn breath and a moan. Reed steadied himself with a hand on the console behind the chair. "Inside me," he urged as Shran's hands smoothed around his hips and settled onto his buttocks.

He rubbed his heavy erection against Shran's chest, striving for sensation as Shran sank two fingers deep inside him. He felt the slight tug as he moved his hips, and sensation blossomed, bleeding into his tightening testicles and into his throbbing member. "Oh," he moaned as he worked himself against Shran's body, pulling Shran's head to his chest again. Shran found a nipple and began to suck, and Reed threw his head back, his body alive and throbbing. He reached for his penis with his free hand, and as Shran worked his fingers inside him and bit at his hard nipple, he began to drive himself to orgasm. He remembered the feel of Shran's cool skin against the tip of his penis when he'd coupled with Shran as they'd leaned against the shuttlepod, a day ago now, and he thought he could feel Sharith's eyes on him as his taut body bent backward like a bow, framed by the shirt trailing from his arms. He cried out as he came in short, ecstatic bursts, wet nipple frantically rubbing against Shran's mouth and buttocks tightening to drive Shran's fingers in deeper. He came with Shran all around him.

"Oh, please," he said, barely able to catch his breath as he sank down. "Shran, please." He leaned down to kiss Shran, and Shran's fingers slid out as he took Reed in his arms. "I don't—Shran, please." He realized he was half sobbing—from pleasure, from reaction, from he didn't know what, and even as he realized he was making no sense, he was aware of how in character this was: the submissive consort, begging. Only it was no act, and he didn't know what he was begging for, only that Shran could grant it.

"My love," Shran kept repeating, voice soothing as Reed shuddered. "Malcolm. My love. Come here."

They stayed that way for a long time, Reed kneeling in Shran's lap, kisses alternating with murmured nonsense words and reassurance, until Reed's legs fell asleep and he grew calmer. He slid off, staggering slightly, and at Shran's urging, made his way to the head, stopping only to pick his clothes off the floor. He was aware of both Sharith's and Shran's eyes following him as he shut the door behind him.

Alone in the head, he stared at himself in the tiny mirror for a long moment before he cleaned himself up. He looked tousled and spent. His mouth looked bruised. He couldn't believe what he'd just done, and yet the warmth and well-being that permeated his body told him that all was well—that Shran cherished him. He kept hearing the words of the universal translator, first in Shran's voice and then in his: "My love, oh my love."

He ought to be humiliated, he thought. He'd had sex while somebody watched, pretending to be in a committed relationship that he and Shran did not actually enjoy, while in character as a submissive personality, all to further a covert op. And instead, he felt wonderful, even free, as though Shran had told him something true instead of saying what was expected.

He used judicious splashes of water from the bottles they kept in the head to clean himself off, even managing to wash his hair. He spiked it after he'd rubbed it with a small hand towel, then smoothed it back down. The last time he'd worn it spiked, he'd had sex with the man from the Grand—what was his name? Philip, that was it. It seemed like a long time ago. Shran hadn't liked the look. That was reason enough to wear it now, he thought slyly, but he didn't have any gel.

"At last," Shran said when Reed emerged.

"Do you need to—?" Reed invited, gesturing at the head.

"No, I cleaned up out here." Shran indicated Sharith. "Get him on his feet, and let's make that call."

"Too bad you didn't have a recording device on you," Reed said as he hauled Sharith up. "I'm sure that was something to see. What? No comment?"

"He disapproves of us," Shran said as he leaned over the com panel.

"I can't imagine why," Reed mocked.

Shran grinned over his shoulder. "It's because I'm an Andorian with only a male consort. No zhen and shen for us. And he cannot tell which of us is the chan and which is the thaan, which I admit is quite confusing." He spoke to Sharith now. "I'm the thaan, but humans do not make such distinctions. If you prefer, think of it as a Terran monogamous relationship, a marriage, rather than an Andorian consort relationship. Despite your disapproval—or perhaps because of it?—I do believe your found our activities quite...exciting."

When Sharith didn't respond, Shran returned his attention to the communications panel. "Now let's try that number Sharith so graciously gave us," he said as he entered data. "Grid 9, building 4." He waved Reed to the side, so the pickup framed only Sharith's head and shoulders. Shran stood behind Sharith, a phase pistol in the small of Sharith's back, where it couldn't be seen by the video pickup.

A screen flickered to life, an Andorian woman's face appearing on it. "Sharith!" she cried, and was it Reed's imagination, or did her face immediately grow more guarded? "We got your message and—" she continued before stopping abruptly. "Er, who's that with you?"

"I need to speak to Shian," Sharith said tightly. "It's important."

A pause lasted just a bit too long. "Shian? I don't think that's possible," the woman said at last.

Both Sharith and the woman had spoken in Andorian, but the universal translator was doing its job, and Reed was able to follow along perfectly. He sidled over for a better view while staying well away from the pickup.

"I'm in a shuttle in grid 9, near building 8," Sharith said hurriedly, giving away their location before he could be stopped. Reed started to advance on Sharith, intending to silence him, but Shran gave a small shake of his head, indicating Reed should back off. Reed huffed silently as he stepped back. It wasn't like whoever was on the other end couldn't trace the source of the transmission; it just might take them a little longer, giving him and Shran more time to prepare for their arrival.

Sharith, meanwhile, continued to babble. "It's the one that was shot down. The shuttle, I mean, not the grid. They say they just want to talk." He took a deep breath, then burst out, "But I think they killed the four men I sent to take care of them last night! I know they killed one of the two I sent before that. I saw the body with my own eyes."

"I assure you, we did not kill any member of the team sent to kill us last night," Shran put in smoothly. The implication was clear: he and Reed had first neutralized a team of two, then a team of five, if Sharith was counted, and thus they were a force to be reckoned with. "The death—well, that was unfortunate, but it is proof that we are not to be trifled with. I only want to talk to Shian. That's all. I have no intention of killing anybody else." He raised the phase pistol so the woman could see it. "But if I were to kill someone to make another example, Sharith is handy." He heaved a theatrical sigh. "I have a feeling I'd be doing you a favor with his death. Clearly he's in over his head. I doubt he's much use to you, unless..." He paused, a thoughtful look coming over his face. "Could he be related to someone important? That's the only reason I can see for tolerating his bumbling inadequacies."

The woman's eyebrows had raised in alarm during Shran's extraordinary speech. "Please hold," she said quickly, and the screen went black almost before her last word was uttered.

Shran swung his head to grin at Reed. "Now we're getting somewhere," he said gleefully.

"We're on hold." Reed crossed his arms over his chest. "No doubt they're sending someone over right now to try to kill us—again. We can expect bombs and bazookas at any moment."

"Not as long as we have Sharith here," Shran said confidently, turning his attention to the other Andorian. "Who _are_ you related to?" he asked, fairly quivering with curiosity. "That's it, isn't it? You are connected to someone important. Excellent! Now we have a hostage who is actually worth something. And it explains his shop, even his network of thugs. They had to give him something to do, and his limited abilities mean that he has been assigned to the nether regions of this benighted planet, where the best he can hope for is a third-class living off people's trash."

"It was rather useful trash," Reed put in with a smirk.

"True," Shran agreed. He added dismissively, "But it was still trash."

"I am standing right here, you know," Sharith, who had been able to follow their conversation in English thanks to the UT, said indignantly. "And I am hardly likely to explain my ancestry to a deviant like you—someone tossed out of the Imperial Guard." He sniffed disdainfully, reminding Reed of Shran at his most obnoxious.

"Definitely a chan," Shran mused, "but it's hard to tell out of Andorian society."

Reed rather thought that was an insult, judging by Sharith's narrowed eyes and curled antennae. From what Reed had deduced, a chan was the dominant male in an Andorian grouping, and while Sharith definitely had the attitude, he didn't have the self-confidence to back it up like Shran did.

The screen flickered to life again, showing the woman's face. "We're sending someone," she informed Shran. "They should be there shortly."

"You're sending Shian or we're not having a conversation," Shran said pleasantly. "I don't have time to deal with middlemen."

"I'll let him know," she said just before the screen darkened again. She'd cut the transmission on her end.

At a look from Shran, Reed took charge of Sharith and pushed him toward the hatch.

"What _do_ you want?" the captive wailed. "Why are you so interested in Shian?"

"I'm interested in a leak about sensitive defense technology," Shran told him. "It affects the Andorian–Vulcan alliance. What can I say? I'm a patriot."

"Patriot for hire, you mean," Sharith retorted.

Shran smiled. "Keep it up, Sharith. It does me good to see some fire in you after all. Let's just say that my business interests would be best served by the alliance staying in place. I don't suppose you know anything about this sensitive defense technology?"

Sharith shook his head. "No, and I don't know what it has to do with Shian. I only know that he came back for his monthly visit, to see his daughter, and suddenly the skies rained down fire."

Shran grabbed him and shook him. "Don't you understand? He was smuggling out top-level secrets. It's not just espionage. It's treason!"

Sharith's antennae trembled. "I know nothing of this," he protested.

"He's a traitor, or he knows who the traitor is," Shran insisted. "Either way, he holds the key to your life. What do you think of that, Sharith? Is he worthy to hold your life in his hands?"

Sharith bowed his head, a look of confusion on his face. Reed was inclined to believe that Sharith knew nothing of Shian's treasonous activities. Reed knew from experience that Andorians could be patriotic to a fault, although they sometimes disagreed among themselves about the form that patriotism should take. Reed had a suspicion that not only was Sharith an inept underling, but an ignorant one as well.

A low thud sounded from the hatch. Someone had thrown a rock to announce their arrival.

"Open it," Shran ordered.

Reed hit the control. The hatch lowered slowly, catching briefly as it descended.

Shran stood behind Sharith, arm around his neck, phase pistol pointed at Sharith's head. "Where is Shian Thrashinar?" he shouted as the hatch touched the ground.

"You'll deal with me," called the voice of the woman whose image had been on the screen.

At a glance from Shran, Reed grabbed a com link, put it on his belt, and stepped onto the lowered hatch and clambered down.

The woman was flanked by three men, two of whom were Andorian and the other Rigellian. All trained their weapons on Reed, who made sure to keep his hands up and well away from the phase pistol at his hip as he approached the group. "Shian Thrashinar or no one," he said politely but firmly when he came to a halt in front of the woman. The com link relayed his words to the shuttle, where the UT translated them into Andorian and sent them back to be heard.

"Shian Thrashinar sees no one," she said, her antennae straight up, showing her resolve.

Without the link, Reed wouldn't have had a clue as to what she'd said because he was too far away from the shuttle to hear the UT program's response. But as soon as the translation came to him via the link, almost faster than could be seen, Reed's hand shot out and grabbed her by the neck, pulling her up against him, even as his other hand snatched his phase pistol from its holster. A moment later, the woman was struggling in Reed's choke hold, his pistol pointed at her head. "Oh, do," he invited as one of the men targeted him. "Let's see which one of us can shoot first."

Inside the shuttle, Shran pushed Sharith closer to the open hatch. "Is either of those men Shian?"

Sharith mumbled something. A poke of the pistol from Shran, and Sharith said more loudly, "The one on the left."

Reed immediately pointed his phase pistol at this new target.

"I am learning to like Sharith," Shran called to those outside, "but I will kill him if I must. Shian, I have some questions for you. You may not want the others to hear."

"I am Shian. I hide nothing from them," the Andorian said.

Reed gazed at him with interest. They'd been seeking the man for days, and finally, they'd found him. He was an unassuming Andorian of middle age, dressed simply in the gray shirt and trousers that everyone on Bliisilgril wore. He didn't look like a spy. Then again, when Reed was undercover, he tried not to look like a spy either.

"We have evidence of a leak in the defense technology housed on the trade planet where you work," Shran told Shian. "Because of this leak, the Andorian–Vulcan trade alliance is at risk. Your name came up in connection with a chip we found in the duct work, and we have evidence that you smuggled information out under the pretext of repairing the heating and cooling system. Are you the leak?"

Shian looked from the feebly struggling woman in Reed's grip to Sharith, then at the two men who had accompanied him. He held up his hand to still his restless colleagues, but showed no sign of answering.

Shran jabbed his pistol into Sharith's neck. "At the risk of becoming tedious," he began, his voice taking on an edge, "I'll repeat what I said earlier: I won't kill anyone unless I have to. And for your information, my consort doesn't need a pistol to kill your zhen. He can snap her neck like a twig with one hand. He'll do it if I tell him to."

So Shian and the woman he was restraining were part of an Andorian family unit, Reed realized. How could Shran tell? And how did Sharith fit into this relationship?

"I ask again," Shran said. "Are you the leak?"

Tearing his worried gaze from the woman, Shian looked levelly at Shran. "I am, but not because I want to do it."

"Of course not," Shran said sarcastically. "Second question: Who are you giving the information to?"

Shian closed his eyes briefly. "Parah Ushaan guides all."

"Parah Ushaan?" Shran said in surprise, followed a moment later by, "No. I accept your response. Where can we find Parah Ushaan?"

The name meant something to Shran, but Reed's curiosity on that count would have to wait until this confrontation ended. He watched as an inner battle seemed to rage inside Shian. Knowing the Andorian propensity for putting family above all else, this Parah Ushaan must be someone very powerful to make Shian hesitate when his zhen's life was at stake.

"Perhaps you could find her in grid 8, near building 5," Shian grudgingly offered after a long moment. "Now release my people."

Reed glanced back at Shran, who nodded. Reed let go of the woman, who immediately ran to rejoin Shian and the others. He holstered his weapon and, holding his hands aloft, he entered the shuttle, half expecting to be shot in the back with each step. After crossing the threshold, he stepped to the side out of the way, so as not to block the others' view of the hostage Shran still held.

"You understand that Sharith's life is forfeit if Parah Ushaan is warned." Shran made it a statement, not a question.

Shian didn't look happy, but he nodded curtly. "And you are to be responsible for him in all other matters," he called back.

Reluctant admiration showed in Shran's eyes. "Understood."

At a gesture from Shran, Reed hit the control to shut the hatch, which began rising with the same agonizing slowness as it had descended. Shran stood with the pistol pressed to Sharith's head until the hatch clanged into place.

Reed was already getting ties to secure their hostage before Shran had pushed Sharith into the chair at one of the auxiliary stations. "I don't think they were expecting us to keep him," Reed told Shran.

"I got that impression as well," Shran said, activating a screen which showed an exterior view. Shian and his party could be seen moving off. "How stupid do they think we are? To give up a hostage that gives us an advantage?" He looked away from the screen to see Reed squatting beside Sharith, tying the man's wrists together. "There's no need for that."

"What?" Reed asked, rocking back on his heels to look up at Shran.

"Sharith will behave." Shran addressed their captive. "Won't you?" When Sharith nodded, Shran patted him on the shoulder and said to Reed, "I have vowed to keep him safe, and he will do nothing to impinge upon that vow."

Reed abruptly stood. The relief he'd felt at coming through the meeting unscathed was rapidly giving way to anger over what he perceived as another of Shran's whims. Letting their hostage remain unfettered to do whatever he could to hinder their mission was asking for trouble, an unjustified risk. "What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

Shran sighed and smiled at the same time. "Sometimes it is difficult being in a relationship with someone who is not Andorian. I have to explain so many things."

"But you threatened to kill him," Reed argued.

"Yes, I did. But only if Shian interferes with us. In all other things, Sharith is under my protection. It is an old Andorian custom, entrusting the safety of a younger family member to an outsider, in times of duress." Shran looked curiously at Sharith. "So exactly how are you related to Shian?"

"I am his younger brother," came the soft reply.

"Put the restraints away, Reed," Shran ordered. When Reed made no move, Shran took the ties out of his hands. "Sharith will not dare do anything. If he did, it would bring dishonor to his brother. If word of it got out, his entire family would be ostracized from Andorian society." He snorted as he turned away, tossing the ties back into the storage locker. "Not that I can imagine being any more ostracized than living on this dreadful planet."

Sharith's unhappy groan, accompanied by a shudder, did more to convince Reed than Shran's words. Reed, despite having reservations, was going to have to follow Shran's lead on this. For one thing, it involved traditions of a culture he was only vaguely familiar with; for another, it wouldn't do to argue in front of Sharith. But while Shran might trust Sharith not to do anything, Reed didn't. He would keep an eye on their captive.

Shran was looking off in the distance. "Parah Ushaan," he muttered. One of his hands went up to an antenna.

"I remember," Reed said. "Captain Archer fought you in the ushaan and cut off your antenna. A traditional duel, yes?"

"Yes, a duel fought with the ushaan-tor, an ice-miner's tool. Ushaan is a name chosen to invoke fear and righteousness."

"And Parah?" Reed asked.

Shran's eyes regained their focus. "A common female name on Andoria. The combination of the two names leads me to believe that the person we are now seeking is not only a woman, but the leader of a criminal organization."

Reed glanced at Sharith. The Andorian seemed to have shrunk in on himself, oblivious to what was going on around him, despite the UT allowing Sharith to understand all that was being said. It must have been a shock for his brother to hand him off to a person who had threatened to kill him—and still might. Combine that with the fact that Shian had admitted to treason, and it was little wonder Sharith was acting shell-shocked. Reed looked back at Shran. "The name seemed to...upset you when you first heard it."

Shran grunted. "In the long-ago mists of Andorian history, there was another with the same name. She, too, was a criminal. She defied established law and did as she pleased, all for her own profit and power. It is said she personally killed more than two thousand people. I fear this modern-day Parah Ushaan has picked an unscrupulous, blood-hungry role model."

The history lesson was all well and good, Reed thought, but it wasn't getting them anywhere. He slid into the pilot's seat. Shian may have given his word that he wouldn't interfere, but lingering here might tempt him to break his word. "We ought to leave."

"Agreed. Take us—somewhere else." Shran sat in the copilot's seat. "When will we be able to achieve orbit?"

"Not for at least another day," Reed said as he input commands. "We should find a place to perform a few more repairs. By then, the foam will have cured. We ought to wear space suits when we do go outside the atmosphere, though. I can't vouch for the shuttle's ability to maintain adequate air pressure." His mind raced, considering everything that could go wrong with their slapdash repairs. "At the least, we need to work on the scanners. I'd like to take a look at the phase cannon too. Then..."

"Then," Shran picked up the conversation, "we can track down Parah Ushaan."

"You're sure Shian Thrashinar won't tell her we're coming?"

"I am sure," Shran said with a glance over his shoulder at their quiet passenger, "but the Parah Ushaan of legend was exceedingly devious. I have no doubt this one will be as well. We must exercise caution."

"Agreed." Reed activated the engine and the shuttle lifted, more bumpily than he would have liked.

"I would not have imagined that this planet held such intrigue," Shran commented.

"It is close to a warp conduit for trade," Reed noted. "And it's close to several commerce planets. One can set down with no fear of being noticed here. There's no defense grid, no log of comings and goings."

"But the clues are here. We merely lack the information to correctly interpret them," Shran said comfortably, as though all answers would come as easily as Parah Ushaan's name and address.

At the shuttle's shudder and sudden canting, Shran reached for a toolbox. "Has the left stabilizer gone again? Allow me." He headed aft. "Any nice clearing will do," he called over his shoulder.

* * *

Reed found a suitably isolated spot to land the shuttle not too far from the city. There weren't any other settlements, or even solitary homesteads, for kilometers in any direction. They deployed the perimeter sensors again, but Reed took the precaution of making sure that they would be triggered if anyone tried to leave the area, not just enter it. Shran might trust Sharith, but he didn't. He wouldn't put it past Sharith to try to sneak back to the city and the dubious protection of his older brother.

After setting up a secure perimeter, Reed checked the foam sealant. It appeared to be holding up well. Since no additional repairs were needed for hull integrity, Reed turned his attention to the shuttle's weapon capabilities. Although he would have liked to have worked on the phase cannon before this, making the shuttle flightworthy had been more important. Now, however, if they were going to go up against a criminal mastermind whose very name supposedly invoked fear, it would be best to be well armed so they could invoke some fear of their own, should the need arise.

Shran, meanwhile, divided his time between tweaking the engine and the stabilizer controls and working on long-range communications. As for their hostage, he spent his time brooding where he sat at an auxiliary station.

The tool Reed was using to mend a broken connection in the phase cannon controls suddenly slipped in his grasp and dug a gouge in his palm. Swearing under his breath, Reed grabbed for a rag to staunch the blood flow. He looked quickly toward Shran, but the Andorian, his upper torso inside the engine housing, hadn't noticed his mishap. Sharith, however, was watching him with the first trace of interest he'd shown since his brother had entrusted his care to Shran.

Reed glared at the captive, and the other man looked away. Reed muttered another curse that had nothing to do with the state of repairs. He was tired of having to maintain his cover story, his role of the subordinate lover, in the constant presence of a third party. He needed a break from constantly guarding what he said or did, but more than that, Shran's behavior was driving him around the bend. The subtle glances, the touches that lingered longer than necessary, the treacly sweet inquiries about how he was feeling—even if they were truly engaged in a consort relationship, Shran's actions would be enough to make Reed knock him into next week. He may have allowed himself to be the subordinate in their lovemaking, even enjoyed it, but this radical departure from Shran's usual overbearing, demanding demeanor was irritating in the extreme. Reed hated it, because he knew it wasn't really Shran. And that thought made him uneasy. Ever since that night in Sharith's bedroom, where their encounters had turned from sex to joy, this was what he'd believed he'd wanted from Shran, but now that it was happening, he could barely tolerate it. It was too far out of character.

He turned back to the control panel, picked up the tool, and immediately nicked himself again. "Bloody hell!"

This louder outburst drew Shran's attention. The Andorian pulled his head out of the engine housing and looked in his direction. "Is there a problem?"

Reed took a breath to steady his uncertain emotions. He held up his hand. The bleeding had stopped, but the cut stood out starkly against his skin. "Just a bit of clumsiness." When Shran made to move in his direction, Reed said tersely, "I can take care of it."

"Please do," Shran said, adding warmly, "I don't like it when you hurt."

Reed's jaw almost dropped at this declaration before he realized that Shran most likely was playing for their audience. They'd left the translator program running for just that reason. Indeed, Sharith was looking on with unabashed interest. Reminding himself to stick to his role, Reed smiled at Shran. As Shran went back to work inside the engine housing, Reed went to the storage locker that contained their first aid supplies. Sharith watched as he disinfected and bandaged the cut.

"He really does care for you, doesn't he?" Sharith said quietly as Reed returned to the control board.

Unwilling—or unable—in his present mental state to answer that question, Reed countered, "Do you find that so hard to believe?" But the comment at least slightly abated his annoyance at Shran's lingering touches, hot gazes, and sweet demeanor, for Sharith had perceived Shran as caring deeply for Reed. Once again, Shran had chosen the correct path.

Sharith looked away, his recent expression of confusion replaced by something else.

It suddenly hit Reed that Sharith was envious of the relationship he thought he and Shran had. He recalled something that Shran had said earlier. "You are chan, are you not?" Reed murmured, careful to pitch his voice so that Shran couldn't overhear.

His eyes wide, Sharith nodded mutely.

"Part of a family unit?" Reed asked.

"No." That one word was laden with disgust.

Reed leaned back in his chair. He made a wild guess. "You don't wish for a traditional family unit, do you?"

A blue blush rose in Sharith's cheeks and his antennae drooped. "No, I don't," he said in barely more than a whisper.

Curious, Reed asked, "So what's the problem?"

Sharith cast a glance toward where Shran was working. The other Andorian appeared to be engrossed in his work. Looking back at Reed, Sharith said quietly, "The pressure is off me to carry on the family line, since my brother has produced offspring. But it is still expected that I take my place in a traditional Andorian family structure."

It was obvious to Reed that Sharith found that idea distasteful. "Is a relationship such as what Shran and I have...Is that so unusual on your world?"

"You're an off-worlder."

Reed added "dense" to his mental list of Sharith's less than admirable attributes. "Besides that."

Sharith shrugged. "It is not common, if that's what you mean. But it is also not accepted openly, primarily because it will not produce offspring. Perpetuating our species is of utmost importance, and it can only be accomplished within the traditionally structured family model. Even then, many families are unable to have children." His head dropped in shame. "Something to do with our biology," he mumbled.

This was more information than Reed cared to know about Andorian reproduction, but he found himself wondering. Shran had never talked about this aspect of Andorian society, other than that families were organized with four adults, two with male characteristics and two with female. He'd just assumed that what he and Shran had—whatever it was—was also accepted, if not for procreation then for companionship or love.

Reed felt a twinge of sympathy for Sharith. Reed's choice of lifestyle had its difficulties; he couldn't begin to imagine what it might be like in a society where the pressure to procreate was so extreme, and apparently with more than its share of difficulties, if Sharith was to be believed. Instead of being shunned for being different, Sharith was probably being hounded to conform. No wonder he'd been so interested in his relationship with Shran. It was like being shown something he couldn't have.

"There's a saying on my planet," Reed said at last. "'To thine own self be true.' I have tried to live according to that precept, at least as far as my personal relationships are concerned. If you give in to your nature, instead of fighting it, joy will follow, because nothing else matters."

He couldn't believe the utter banality of the words, but Sharith looked at him with something close to wonder, as though Reed had told him something extraordinary. "I never thought I'd find someone who understands."

"Well, yes," Reed said, suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation. Who was he, a Starfleet tactical officer from Earth, to give an Andorian advice about his sexual orientation, when he barely understood the established parameters of Andorian society to begin with? At least Sharith had fallen into silence again. He'd apparently given the man something to think about.

Reed picked up the tool. He'd just finished repairing the connection when Sharith spoke.

"Do you think it would be possible...you, Shran, and me...?"

The unfinished question startled Reed so much that the nicked his hand again. "Not a chance!" he hissed.

### CHAPTER 9

If he felt Sharith's hot breath on his neck one more time, Reed swore he was going to stun the man and leave him where he fell. Bringing the Andorian along as they snuck into Parah Ushaan's headquarters was turning out to be more trouble than it was worth, but Shran, citing that damned tradition of being entrusted with another's safety, had insisted Sharith accompany them. Shran, for the first time in several days, had played his trump card of being in charge of the mission, and he had vetoed Reed's more practical suggestion of leaving the man tied up in the shuttle.

They'd finished the last of the repairs relatively quickly. Reed had even had time to input an abbreviated version of the universal translator's program from the shuttle into his scanner. It would only work for Andorian, and he seriously doubted it was up to Hoshi Sato's standards, but it would suffice. He figured he'd need it if they ran into Parah Ushaan; it was unrealistic to expect that every Andorian spoke English, although he'd gathered that a facility with languages was an Andorian gift, not one unique to Shran. Even Sharith seemed to be picking up more English the longer he was with them.

Darkness was falling as they'd flown to within walking distance of the location that Shian had given them. Reed had been happy that there had been no more sudden lurchings of the shuttle. During their down time, he'd pried off a panel and tested the foam sealant, which had cured beautifully, and then had run a few tests to ensure that if they could clear the atmosphere, they could maintain air pressure. They only had two space suits, and Reed had already decided that if it came down to it, Sharith was going without. He'd also been positively ecstatic that he'd been able to fix the phase cannon. He always felt better when reliable firepower was available. Repairs were as complete as possible without specialized equipment.

The satisfaction of those accomplishments, however, had faded with Sharith's annoying presence. The man had no subtlety. Even worse, he tended to take everything literally. When Reed had ordered him to stay close as they'd left the shuttle, Sharith had followed the instruction to the point of stepping on Reed's heels several times. Now, hunkered down in some concealing foliage, their shoulders brushing, Reed figured the only way Sharith could get any closer was if the Andorian glued himself to him.

Shran wasn't helping matters. The least Shran could do, Reed thought peevishly, was to act like he was jealous, which might make Sharith back off. But instead, Shran appeared amused by the other man's bumbling antics. As it was, Reed couldn't even move without bumping into Sharith. He was beginning to regret having quoted Shakespeare at Sharith. He'd never thought the Andorian would act on his advice so quickly, least of all toward him.

Reed elbowed Sharith in the ribs, which made the man scoot sideways and gave Reed enough room to lift the binoculars to his eyes. The building he was looking at was larger than any he'd seen on the planet so far. Two stories tall, it covered close to an acre. Another thing that set it apart from the other buildings on the planet was that it had an independent power source. Even from a distance, Reed could hear the humming of a generator. From the type of construction—utilitarian, few windows, fewer doors—and a massive paved parking area, it appeared that most of structure served as a warehouse or storage facility.

He passed the binoculars to Shran. "I don't see any guards, but no doubt there are security measures in place." As Shran peered through the binoculars, Reed activated his scanner. "Or not," he said in mild surprise. "I'm not getting any readings indicative of active alarm systems."

"She's overconfident," Shran said. "She believes her reputation will keep away unwanted visitors. Such arrogance." He lowered the binoculars.

Because of the scanner's limitations, the translation program couldn't run at the same time as other programs, and right now, Reed needed its scanning capabilities. So when Sharith reached past Reed toward Shran for the binoculars, he spoke in broken English to make himself understood to Reed. "I see?"

"No," Reed said, knocking Sharith's arm away without taking his gaze from the scanner. "I'm reading only three life signs inside. The best place for us to enter is on the far side, well away from where the people are."

Shran nodded. "Let's go."

They moved off, Shran in the lead. Reed motioned Sharith to follow Shran. Maybe now Shran would find out how irritating it was to have your heels stepped on. But to Reed's disappointment, Sharith maintained a discreet distance from his fellow Andorian, allowing Shran to move untouched as they circled around the building. They stayed behind the cover of trees and bushes as long as they could, but there was an open area they'd have to traverse to reach the door.

"Two cameras," Reed said, pointing them out.

"Can you block them?" Shran asked.

Reed pulled out the scanner. "I don't need to," he said, puzzled, after a moment. "They aren't on."

"Strange," Sharith remarked, stating the perfectly obvious.

Reed gazed through his lashes at Sharith. "You are messing me about, aren't you, Sharith?" he asked the Andorian directly. "I don't care whose brother you are. You would not be capable of running a grid with the skill set I've seen on display."

"I rather imagine Sharith outsourced some of his work to those better suited to it," Shran put in.

Reed sighed. "Of course he did." He gestured toward the building. "Sharith, do you have anything to add about this place?"

"Me?" Sharith sounded surprised at being addressed directly. "'Add about this place?' What that mean?"

Reed was tempted to turn the translation program on, but instead he rephrased his question. "What do you know about this place?"

"Nothing."

"Do you know Parah Ushaan?" Reed persisted.

Sharith shuddered. "No," he said, looking so alarmed that Reed was convinced he was telling the truth.

"This break in their security may be rectified at any time," Shran hinted. He gestured at the door. "Shall we?"

After one last check of the building and its rooftop and seeing no one, the three hurried across the open area to the door. Shran tried the knob.

"It's not locked," he remarked. "Careless."

"Or there's a trap on the other side," Reed said, watching their backs. His sixth sense was tingling: first no cameras, and now an open door? "Be careful."

Shran didn't bother to answer. He swung the door open to reveal inky blackness, and stepped in and to the side. When Sharith hesitated, Reed gave him a push to follow Shran in. Standing silhouetted in an open doorway made them excellent targets for anyone inside.

"Why you do that?" Sharith complained loudly.

"Quiet!" Reed whispered harshly. He shut the door after he stepped through.

They remained by the door until their eyes adjusted. Contrary to Reed's first impression, the darkness inside wasn't total. There was a faintly diffuse glow from overhead lights, powered down but not off. It was just enough light, Reed realized, to let anyone familiar with the place find their way around the stacks of shipping containers that filled what appeared to be a massive warehouse.

"This is all storage," Shran said quietly. "What we're looking for would be in an office or records room."

"Or a safe," Sharith put in helpfully.

"Would. You. Please. Shut. Up?" Reed grated out, gripping the scanner tightly and wishing it was Sharith's neck. He took a deep, steadying breath before loosening his grip enough to run a new scan, this one of the building's structure. "There are smaller rooms on the upper level. So are the three people."

"Ah," Shran said breathlessly. "At last. A challenge!"

Reed put out a hand to stay Shran. "This is too easy," he said in the very low nonwhisper that covert operatives had perfected. "I have a very bad feeling." His stomach was in knots, in fact. He would have far preferred a fistfight to this bizarre ease of entry.

"We go forward," Shran ordered. "We cannot do otherwise. The fate of the Andorian–Vulcan alliance hangs in the balance."

Sharith, clearly awed, gazing at Shran with shining eyes. Reed huffed out an annoyed breath. He didn't need to be in character for that reaction to ring true.

Shran was correct; they had to go forward. The scanner indicated a flight of stairs to their right. As they headed in that direction, keeping Sharith between them, Reed was struck by how strangely complicated and difficult this mission had been. It had started off well enough on the trade planet, but since then, it had been one misadventure after another. First, there had been the crash. It had been sheer luck they hadn't been killed. As it was, the damage to the shuttle had been almost insurmountable, but Trip Tucker wasn't the only one who could fix equipment with baling wire and spit, Reed thought in grim satisfaction. Then, they'd had two separate run-ins with inept would-be assassins, whom they'd dispatched with ludicrous ease, although Reed would always regret the Rigellian's death. And at last, they had tracked down the person ultimately responsible for the theft of classified data, but only after using the thief's brother as a hostage. The fact that their hostage seemed to have developed an infatuation with him was a complication Reed could have done without.

Throughout it all, there had been Shran's constant presence. Reed still wasn't sure of the exact nature of their relationship, which by turns had been both satisfying and frustrating. Reed didn't know if he'd ever understand his obsession with the man, but he'd given up trying to deny the attraction.

It was going to take him a long time to write the report on this covert op, even leaving out the more personal incidents—incidents that he had absolutely no intention of putting in the report anyway.

Reed forced himself to concentrate as they climbed the stairs. He had to grab Sharith's waistband and pull down hard to quiet Sharith's clatter on the rattling metal. He needed to be focused; he could not allow himself to become distracted so close to their goal. If they were lucky, they'd find the data and get out in a minimal amount of time. Once they obtained the evidence of espionage, Andorian authorities could be summoned to deal with Parah Ushaan.

Reed followed Shran and Sharith into a hallway at the top of the stairs. "Wait," Reed ordered, voice quiet, frowning at the scanner. He gestured to the first door down the hallway. "Shran. Open that. I'm getting some odd readings." At Shran's look, he added, "Not life signs."

Shran swung the door open. Sharith started to speak, but Reed glared at him and he shut up. "Weapons," Shran reported, voice quiet. "Take a look."

Reed resisted the urge to whistle when he saw the room's contents. "My, my," Reed said. "Someone likes antiques."

"What?" Sharith asked, for once keeping his voice low.

"A weapons store," Reed said. "Antique projectile weapons, many of them from Earth."

"Plenty of ammunition, too," Shran noted. "Perhaps it's easier to make bullets and maintain these primitive mechanisms on this planet. Fuel cells for energy weapons may be hard to come by. And expensive."

"Perhaps," Reed said, unconvinced, as Shran closed the door. "All right. Sorry. I'm picking up life signs."

Shran asked, "Where are they?"

Reed checked the scanner. "One is in the last room on the right. The other two are in an adjoining room that doesn't have a door to the hall."

Shran moved off stealthily. Reed deactivated the scanner, hooked it on his belt, and unholstered his phase pistol, making sure it was set on stun. Even in the dim lighting, he would see Sharith's frightened expression. "Get behind me," he told Sharith, reinforcing his order with a hand gesture in case Sharith didn't understand his words. "Or you could stay behind on the stairs."

"No. I stay with you," the Andorian gulped. Perhaps he was remembering how efficiently he and Shran had dealt with his hired thugs, Reed thought. The possibility of bodily harm might keep Sharith, who seemed to be something of a coward, out from underfoot, but Reed wouldn't count on it.

Moving silently, Reed caught up with Shran outside the last door in the hall. For once, Sharith kept his distance, pressed up against the wall several paces behind Reed.

"This is the only way in," Shran whispered.

Reed nodded his understanding. He would much rather have tackled the group of two people first, but they had no choice. They'd storm this room, take out the person inside, and advance on the adjoining room. He motioned Sharith to stay where he was, then raised his pistol.

Shran, his hand on the door knob, said, "After you," and flung open the door.

Reed rushed in. The same Rigellian who earlier had been with Shian was seated at a desk, rising to his feet at the commotion. Reed stunned him before he could draw his sidearm, and he slumped backward against a file cabinet and slid to the floor.

Shran ran to the only other door in the room and threw it open. Reed saw his antennae, which had been taut with anticipation of a fight, suddenly tilt forward in curiosity. As Shran slowly lowered his pistol, Reed came up beside him to peer into the adjoining room.

"Shian!" Reed exclaimed. While he wasn't surprised by the Andorian's presence here—he'd rather expected it, considering he didn't trust the man—it was the other person Shian held protectively in his arms that gave Reed pause. "Sharith!" he called over his shoulder. "It's all right to come in."

Sharith sidled into the first room, giving the felled Rigellian a wide berth. When he peered between Shran and Reed into the adjoining room, clearly excited, he said something in Andorian to Shian.

As Reed quickly set his scanner to the UT program, Shran told him, "That's Shian's daughter."

Reed did note a resemblance between Shian and the young girl, who couldn't be more than four or five years old. But what was she doing here? He took in the sparse furnishings of the room—a cot with a threadbare blanket, a chair, a few items that might be toys—then he remembered that Sharith had said that Shian returned to this planet to visit his daughter. Finding the two here together, in Parah Ushaan's lair, made the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. Just as Shian had entrusted the safety of Sharith to Shran, he must have used the same ploy on Parah Ushaan for his daughter's sake. The little girl was Parah's hostage, ensuring that Shian would be cooperative. Shian's regular visits to turn over stolen data from the weapons development program had the added purpose of allowing Shian to make sure Parah was keeping her end of the bargain.

Or—that theory was totally wrong if Parah was zhen in Shian's family unit. The way this mission was going, that was entirely possible, Reed thought, frowning as he scratched his temple, because it struck him that Sharith—if he could be believed—had said he hadn't met Parah, and he certainly would have if Shian and Parah were two parts of a family unit. What was that Tucker said about not being able to tell the players without a scorecard?

"I did not tell Parah," Shian said defensively in Andorian, his words coming from the scanner in English after a slight lag.

"I'm sure you didn't," Shran said. "But now that we have arrived, I strongly suggest you take your daughter and leave."

Shian relaxed marginally. "You should leave as well," he advised. "The Rigellian out there—he's one of Parah Ushaan's men. I could not keep him from telling her of our meeting. Andorian custom means nothing to him." He spoke without bitterness, resignation in his voice.

"Damn," Reed muttered. "I knew this was going too easily."

"We are not leaving until we find what we're looking for," Shran told Shian. "You know what we want. Where is it?"

Shian, still carrying his mercifully quiet daughter, moved past Shran and Reed, joining Sharith in the outer room. He glanced at the Rigellian out cold on the floor, then pointed to a pair of computer workstations against the far wall. "Probably there. Those are the only networked computers in this place. All the other units are just handhelds for tracking inventory."

Shran moved to one of the stations and powered up the equipment. "How are your decryption skills, Reed?"

"Better than my Andorian," Reed replied, turning on the other station.

"You don't have much time," Shian said. "I've never known Parah to leave for very long while I am visiting Takni."

Shran spared a moment to throw a smile over his shoulder at the little girl. "Takni. That's a pretty name for a pretty girl." The girl smiled back shyly.

"Shran!" Reed hissed. "We're wasting time."

Takni, who earlier had been looking intently at Reed—she'd probably never seen a human before, he realized—buried her face against her father's neck at his harsh tone, and her uncle, Sharith, patted her back.

"I expect someone will be along shortly," Reed said in a more moderate tone, not wishing to scare the child further. She'd been through enough as it was. "This whole setup feels like a trap," he said again. "Is it?"

Shian shrugged, a very human gesture. "I don't know. Probably. I had a scheduled visit. I think Parah was surprised when I kept it."

Shran, half attending to Shian while he kept an eye on the computer, slapped the monitor. "Just listings of useless files—routine correspondence," he said, disgusted. "I assume, when you realized we'd be coming here, that you did more than keep a prearranged appointment. Did you make some sort of preparation to take your daughter away from Parah?"

"Yes. I will be going off-world and into hiding. Permanently." He overrode Sharith's quick, low protest. "Takni's safety is everything to me, and I let it go on for far too long, thinking I was hurting no one!" he snapped, speaking to his brother. "I will break the family unit, yes, but perhaps you can claim the right to take my place."

That shut Sharith up, Reed saw. Shian's words had stunned him into silence.

Shian continued, "I have lost everything except my life, and for me, that only has value so that I may save my daughter. I arranged to turn off the security system and leave the doors open." Shian turned toward the door, but stopped. "I release you from your promise of safety for Sharith," he said. "Come, brother." A moment later, the three Andorians had slipped out of the room.

Reed could hear their footsteps moving quickly down the hall. He was happy to finally put Sharith out of his mind as he took a look at the list of files on his screen, feeling a sense of urgency growing with each passing second. He couldn't read Andorian, and the portion of the translation program he'd installed in the scanner only worked with verbal language. "Shran! You're going to have to look at these. I can't tell what they are."

Shran stepped next to him to stare at the information. "Shipping manifests, a list of inventory... All routine and to be expected at a warehouse. It's the same on my machine."

They turned to look at the file cabinet. "Surely not," Reed said. To leave sensitive data in a file cabinet when perfectly good computers that could be guarded with security programs were available was the height of stupidity. Or, as Shran had said, it was a matter of Parah's arrogance. Reed wondered if that might yet be the key to pulling this off.

"It does have the benefit of being unhackable," Shran pointed out. "In that regard, it is totally secure. As I imagine this building must be if the security systems are actually turned on."

Reed stepped over the body of the unconscious Rigellian and yanked open the top drawer to find a haphazard pile of papers. Not only was Parah arrogant, she was sloppy.

At Reed's gesture, Shran rifled quickly through the papers. "Hard copy printouts of correspondence from off-world trade partners, all seemingly legitimate."

Shran shut the drawer, and Reed pulled open the middle drawer. The odor of rotting meat wafted out. Reed, his nose wrinkling, turned his head away in disgust. Shran made a gagging sound. "Someone's leftover lunch," he said, slamming that drawer closed.

Shran pulled the Rigellian's body out of the way of the bottom drawer. Reed grabbed the handle, but unlike the others, this drawer refused to budge when he tugged on it. "We may be on to something," he said, feeling a rush of adrenaline course through him. This drawer was the only thing they'd come across that had been locked in the entire facility. It must hold something of value. He slipped his knife from a sheath strapped to his leg and inserted the blade between the drawer and its frame. A few quick jerks, and the lock gave way. Shran opened the drawer as Reed resheathed the knife. They both peered in. A solitary data disk was the only item in the drawer.

Shran picked up the disk. "There are no notations of what is on this," he said as he looked at it, turning it over in his hands.

"We need to check it to make sure," Reed said. "For all we know, Parah's got a petty pilfering problem with her staff, and she keeps blank disks locked up." Well, one blank disk locked up, he amended to himself. "Wait." He slid the bottom drawer shut and reopened the middle one, complete with the stench of food gone bad.

"Very thorough," Shran commented as he moved back to a computer station to slot in the disk—and to avoid the smell. "That is one of the things I like about you."

Reed snorted at Shran's complimentary words as he poked at the box of bad food. Now was not the time to flirt. He leaned over so he could see the underside of the drawer. He delicately moved his fingers over the tracks, then along the channel in the middle of the drawer.

"This disk is blank," Shran reported a moment later.

"Ah, but I have something for you," Reed said with satisfaction, pulling at tape that affixed something underneath the drawer. "Another data disk, also unlabeled." He tossed the disk to Shran, who caught it out of midair. "I'll check the other two drawers, and then I'll look behind the cabinet as well. Meanwhile, hand me that blank disk, would you?"

Shran ejected the disk and tossed it over. A little misdirection never went awry, but it felt like an empty gesture, affixing the blank disk in place of the one he'd just removed. He continued working as Shran inserted the thick disk into the computer slot. "Why did you let Shian go?" Reed asked as he bent to look underneath the top drawer.

"He'll be picked up later," Shran said, leaning over the computer's controls. "Despite the severity of his crime, he was coerced. His daughter's life was at stake. Andorian justice will be lenient with him."

"Family first" Reed said, more to himself than Shran, as he checked the bottom drawer. Nothing. "And he will give it all up for his daughter's sake." He rocked the file cabinet to move it away from the wall. More loudly, he said, "You didn't seem surprised to see him here, or that he was planning to make a break from Parah. How did you know?"

"It's what I would have done, given the circumstances." Shran pushed a button, and the screen lit up, data scrolling more rapidly than Reed could follow. Not that it would have done him much good if he could, as it was in Andorian. "This is it!" Shran crowed in triumph, just as Reed established that the back of the file cabinet was clear.

"Then take it and let's get out of here," Reed said, inching the file cabinet back into place.

"Wait!" Shran said, face intent as he manipulated the keys, opening files on the disk. His voice was ice cold when he spoke again. "It's not just the Andorian–Vulcan project."

Reed turned toward him. "What do you mean? What more could there be?"

"There is more information here, leaks from similar R&amp;D projects on Tellar Prime, Sigma Beta—" He broke off, his antennae rigid with surprise, to look at Reed. "—Earth. All involve weapons or defense projects." He turned back to the screen. "They could all have an impact on any number of interplanetary alliances, or even cause a war, if they were to fall into the wrong hands."

Reed found himself beside Shran, staring at the data he couldn't comprehend, astounded by the scope of what they'd uncovered. "You're sure?"

"Absolutely," Shran said vehemently.

Reed considered this development. "Parah couldn't be planning to use this information on her own," he said after a moment. "From what we've seen, she doesn't have a big enough organization. Her outfit is strictly small time."

"She is going to try to sell it—to the highest bidder, most likely." Shran sneered. "If she's trying to be anything like the Parah Ushaan of old, greed is her primary motivating factor. She doesn't care if the rest of the galaxy sinks into chaos as a result."

"She could have sold it already," Reed pointed out. "We might be too late."

"I don't think so." Shran hit a key on the computer, and a list of what appeared to be time notations appeared next to the files. Reed could recognize Andorian numerals. "There's no indication that copies were made."

"We have to get out of here right away," Reed said, turning for the door once more. "We have the data. I'd rather not have a confrontation."

Shran was in full agreement. He pulled the disk from the slot—

—and an ear-splitting alarm sounded.

### CHAPTER 10

"I knew it!" Reed shouted over the blaring of the high, cycling alarm. "I knew we were being set up! The computer must have been set to trigger an alarm if the disk was read."

Shran pocketed the disk and ran after Reed down the hallway. They fairly flew down the stairs, expecting to be fired upon at any moment. On the main floor, they skirted stacked containers. Reed expected men lying in ambush to spring out from behind them, but no one did. They'd made it all the way to the door through which they'd entered with no opposition, when Reed grabbed Shran's arm to prevent him from opening the door. An instinct Reed had come to trust was railing at him that things were still going too easily despite the alarm.

"Let me check something," he panted. He deactivated the translator program on the scanner, enabling its primary programming to work, and made a sweep of the lower level of the warehouse. No life signs but his and Shran's registered. Then he set it so that the scan penetrated the wall near the exit. "Bloody hell! There must be ten people out there."

"She waited to catch us until after we found the evidence," Shran ranted. "I should have seen this coming. She's playing with us!"

Reed touched a control on the side of the scanner. "All of them are armed with charged energy weapons." Fresh out of ideas, he looked at Shran. The Andorian was looking steadily back at him.

"There are other exits?" Shran asked.

"On the other side of the building," Reed answered. "It's set up for cargo. We saw the car park during our reconnaissance."

"They expect us to leave this way." Shran glanced at the door. When he looked back at Reed, there was a gleam in his eyes. "Let's not."

Reed couldn't stop the grin he felt curling up his lips. Adrenaline was still coursing through his body, his nerves stretched tight, but there was no one he'd rather have by his side at this moment, with the odds stacked against them, than Shran. They turned as one and ran through the maze of shipping containers, the alarm still clamoring in the background. They skidded to a halt on the other side of the vast storage area near a door large enough to accommodate delivery vehicles. Another door, of average humanoid size, was some thirty meters farther down the building.

"That's our new exit," Shran said, pointing at the door, and Reed nodded.

Reed used the scanner to check outside the building. "There are some people outside here, but not as many as on the other side." He turned off the scanner and glanced around. Other than a forklift-type machine parked near the large door, there were only containers and more containers, and he and Shran didn't have time to check their contents for anything useful. As he tried frantically to come up with a plan, his gaze was drawn back to the forklift. "I have an idea." He hurried over to the machine, climbed into the driver's seat, and began fiddling with the controls. The forklift's motor turned over, its electric engine silent.

"I think I like this idea," Shran said as he positioned himself by the controls for the larger door.

Reed steered the forklift in the direction of the larger door. He used a pry bar he found next to the seat to jam the accelerator to the floor. As the forklift gained speed, he jumped off.

Shran was ready. He hit the button to open the door. It started slowly rising, drawing up toward the ceiling. Unlike the silent forklift, it made a loud clatter—a sound that would definitely draw the attention of their opponents. With only centimeters to spare, the forklift careened through the opening and into the darkness outside, but Reed and Shran were already running for the other door they'd marked as their new exit, the sound of weapons fire striking the forklift echoing in their ears.

Reed knew it was hoping too much that the distraction would enable them to escape unseen. But it might buy them enough time to make it to the dense foliage past the parking area, where they could lose any pursuers. Time being of the essence, they didn't stop when they got to the other door. Reed, in front, didn't take the chance that the door, like all the others so far, was unlocked. Instead, just in case it was locked, he blasted the lock mechanism from a few meters away, flung it open as he hurtled through it, and gained speed as he ran across the pavement toward the tree line he could barely make out in the darkness. If he concentrated, he could hear Shran running behind him as well as the zipping sound of weapons fire a short distance away, but mostly he heard the loud clanking and metallic ripping sounds from the forklift as it slammed into a cargo unloader parked in its path. Their distraction had worked perfectly. The shots, none of which came in their direction, however, were becoming more sporadic than when they'd first started.

He was beginning to think they would make it when the area suddenly lit up with the brightness of a midday sun. Not wasting a precious second to slow down and look over his shoulder, he lowered his head and ran faster, his labored breathing feeling like it was tearing great gouges in his chest. The safety of the tree line was only a few steps away. He and Shran could make it. They had to make it.

Then he was hit between the shoulders with something that felt like an anvil. His feet stopped moving, and he felt himself falling forward. His last thought was that the impact of his head on the hard pavement was probably going to give him another concussion.

* * *

Hearing was the first sense to return. What sounded like Shran's voice, loud and challenging, came from above Reed. There was a softer but no less determined voice as well, but not as close to him as Shran's. He didn't understand what they were saying, but the sibilant inflections were definitely Andorian.

Touch was the next sense to return. He could feel the hard pavement beneath him, cool and unyielding against his cheek. He was lying on his stomach, probably where he'd fallen after being stunned, the scanner digging into his waist where it was clipped to his belt. If they were still outdoors where they'd been caught when the floodlights had come on, he couldn't have been out for too long.

He cautiously opened his eyes a slit as the conversation continued. It was still as blindingly bright as when he'd been shot, but his face was turned away from the building where the floodlights were mounted, and so his eyes were in shadow. He was startled to see, from his ground-level viewpoint, a pair of boots uncomfortably close to his nose. They had to be Shran's. Past them, his phase pistol lay on the ground. He looked back at the boots and, moving only his eyes, peered up. Shran was standing over him, aiming a gun at something that, from his position on the ground, Reed couldn't see.

As his muddled brain began to clear, Reed realized there must be some sort of standoff going on. He couldn't figure out, however, why Shran hadn't been taken down just as he had been. They'd been overwhelmingly outnumbered. Something was going on that he didn't understand.

Slowly, Reed lifted his head, turning it toward whatever Shran was aiming his gun at. Sure enough, a number of men and one woman were holding weapons on Shran from several meters away. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, and revised his first impression of the scene: the woman was aiming her weapon at him. Hers was the other voice he'd heard. Some distance behind the group was a tangle of wrecked machinery, the forklift and the cargo unloader virtually unrecognizable, smoke pouring from the units, and black scorch marks from weapons fire along the side of what Reed assumed was the forklift.

"Are you back with me, Reed?" Shran asked in English from above him.

Reed risked a glance up. Shran's gaze was still locked on their opponents. "Yes." He shifted, rolling onto his side before pushing himself up into a sitting position. His head was spinning wildly. He raised a hand to the stinging on his cheek, felt an abrasion, and pulled his hand away to see blood on his fingertips. "What's going on?" he gasped as the dizziness began to retreat.

"Parah here has offered me a deal."

Reed looked at the woman with interest. She was of average height for an Andorian female, which meant she was slightly taller than Shran. Reed had noticed that, among Andorians, the women were often taller, perhaps even physically stronger, than the men, although from what he'd been able to tell, theirs was a male-dominated culture, despite the presence of women in every occupation. He grimaced at his befuddled thoughts, trying to get them back in order. Now was not the time to be wondering about Andorian physiology or social hierarchy. He resumed his perusal of the woman, knowing it might be crucial to be able to identify her later. But while her pale hair glowed and her antennae stood out starkly, he couldn't see her face, for she stood with her back to the floodlights.

He carefully got to his feet, squinting in the harsh glare. "What kind of deal?" he asked cautiously.

"It seems our infiltration of her headquarters was a test," Shran said. He looked at Reed from the corner of his eye and smirked. "We passed, of course."

"It wasn't much of a test," Reed retorted. "She let us have free run of the place. She knew Shian had turned off the security system. In fact, she probably ordered him to." He had a feeling that Shian had played them, but he couldn't get the image of the little Andorian girl and that dreadful prison of a room out of his head.

A sharp comment came from Parah, which elicited an even sharper response from Shran. Both had spoken in Andorian. In an aside to Reed, Shran said, "She doesn't like us talking in a language she doesn't understand."

"I can fix that. Tell them not to shoot." As Shran relayed his request, Reed showed his hands, then, moving very slowly, reached for the scanner on his belt, hoping it hadn't been damaged in his fall, and activated the translation program. "So we passed her test," he said. To his relief, his words issued in Andorian from the scanner, after its usual lag for processing. Parah seemed to be appeased, but more than that, Reed was glad that he would be able to understand what was being said in Andorian. He desperately needed to know what was going on. "Now what?"

"Parah wants me to join her organization," Shran informed him. "She has deduced that I am formerly of the Imperial Guard. A man of my talents and experience would be invaluable to her."

"That is correct," Parah said, the scanner obediently translating her words into English. "There are many rewards for him if he works for me."

All this talk about Shran joining Parah's organization was making Reed nervous. "What about me?" he asked.

Her weapon remained aimed at him. "I have no use for you."

Reed tensed, expecting her to shoot him then and there, but the standoff remained unchanged. Something besides the gun Shran was pointing at her was holding her back.

"It seems Parah is somewhat xenophobic," Shran explained. "So we have a problem. She wants to kill you, but I won't join her if she does."

A flush of gratification swept through Reed at his words. In a voice low enough that the scanner wouldn't pick it up, Reed said, "She'll kill both of us if you don't."

"Maybe not." Shran's demeanor became apologetic. "It seems she is interested in me not just for the skills I could bring to her organization. She is looking for a suitable chan."

Reed goggled at him, not sure he'd heard correctly. "What?" he asked so loudly that the scanner all but shouted it in Andorian. He didn't care. He couldn't believe this development.

"Now, now. Don't be jealous. I can't help it if I'm attractive to the opposite sex," Shran said, preening. As Reed spluttered, he whispered, "You're doing well so far. Keep playing along."

"Play along?" Reed muttered, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

Shran ignored him. He'd already shifted his attention back to Parah. "As you can see," he told her, "my consort is incredibly dedicated to me. He doesn't like to share me with anyone. It's his human heritage. On Earth, they form two-person units."

Reed should have felt embarrassment or shame at this statement, but he was too amazed by Shran's gall. Despite knowing Shran was playing his covert ops role, Reed was becoming angrier by the moment. That was a dangerous state of mind for a covert operative, for it could lead to reckless behavior, and right now, he needed to stay calm. But Shran's next statement only threw more fuel on his fire.

"Despite his outré ideas, Reed is an excellent consort," Shran informed Parah. "You never know—you might appreciate certain...skills of his as well."

Their lives were on the line here, and Shran was using sexual favors as a negotiating tool? Reed almost lost his temper. He would have, if he hadn't developed the habit of including Shran's antennae in his observation of the Andorian's body language. Shran had just made a slight motion of his head to the side, in the direction of the trees, at the same time one of his antennae dipped into a curling motion, almost like it was picking something up. The only thing in the vicinity that could be picked up was Reed's phase pistol. A fresh jolt of adrenaline hit Reed's system as he realized that Shran was telling him to be ready, that it was time to end the standoff. All of Shran's talk, which had so angered him, had been merely a ploy to distract Parah from what they were about to do.

"What do you say, Parah?" Shran asked. "Will you take both of us? I assure you, we do make a most formidable team."

Reed tensed as Parah considered Shran's proposal. She looked at Shran, then at Reed. When she turned her head toward one of her henchmen and said, "Kill the human," Reed dove to the ground toward his pistol, and Shran dropped into a crouch and opened fire.

By the time Reed had his pistol in his grasp, two of Parah's thugs had taken shots at him. One blast pierced the air where he'd been standing only a moment before, and the other singed the tip of his shoe, making his toes tingle from the compressed energy that had just missed them. He reflexively pulled that leg toward him as he returned fire, hitting one of the men.

Shran, meanwhile, had hit another of the men with his first shot, then had taken aim at Parah. But the Andorian woman had scurried behind the damaged machinery, the smoke from the burning motors preventing Shran from making an accurate shot.

"Go!" Shran yelled, pulling Reed to his feet with his free hand as more shots hit the pavement around them. Shran gave him a push in the direction of the trees, but not before Reed felt him slip something into his shirt pocket.

Shran was going to hold back, Reed realized, and provide protective covering fire so that he'd have a better chance of getting away with the disk that had been passed to him. There was no time to protest, much less try to force Shran to take back the disk. Unwilling to place Shran's life in any more danger than it already was by his selfless action, Reed managed to fire one more time as he began running. He thought he'd hit his target, but he couldn't stop to be sure. Then he was in the trees, Shran right behind him, the tree trunks and undergrowth providing limited cover.

"You know where to go," Shran called out, breaking to the right toward where they'd landed the shuttle.

Reed didn't answer, but he correspondingly altered his headlong plunge as well. He'd barely gone a few meters when a shot narrowly missed him—not from behind, but from ahead. Had Parah set a larger perimeter than the grounds immediately surrounding the warehouse? The shot, Reed noted as he chanced a look back, had felled a sapling that crashed into one of his pursuers, who went down with a cry more of startlement than of pain. Who—?

Another shot blazed past, and Reed was able to track it to a figure some distance ahead of him, running in the general direction of the shuttle. Although the person was Andorian—he could see the antennae in silhouette—it couldn't be Shran, because Shran was off to his right, and Shran's weapon had a different sound when it fired.

"Shian," he said under his breath, breaking into a smile as he increased his pace.

Shian's covering fire would allow Reed and Shran to scramble to the shuttle's location far more quickly than would have been possible otherwise. Reed turned and fired randomly, trying for crazy angles so his location would be harder to pinpoint, then took off running again, expecting to be hit in the back at any moment. After a long few minutes of confusion and noise, he stood, his breathing ragged, at the shuttle next to Sharith, who held a terrified Takni. Reed, entering the unlocking code, gave the man a grateful nod. For once, Sharith had proved valuable. He had to have led Shian to the shuttle, for there was no other way Shian could have known its location.

"Well done," he said to Sharith, who looked startled and gratified at the compliment. "Shian's covering fire was most effective. Thank you."

Seconds later, Shian and Shran joined them. They quickly climbed aboard. As Shran cursed the hatch for failing to close quickly enough, Reed activated the engine.

"Shian," Reed called over his shoulder, "where can we take you?"

"Anywhere off planet would be fine," Shian said grimly, the shuttle's UT translating his words after a slight delay. He came to stand beside Reed, one steadying hand on the console. "Look!" He pointed to the view out the shuttle's front window.

"That can't be good," Reed murmured. A large vehicle was rumbling toward them, easily powering over the rough terrain and crushing bushes and smaller rocks. He squinted in the bad light at the large object on the vehicle's truck bed. "Is that really a—"

"A bazooka, yes," Shran put in. "One wonders about Parah's fascination with antique weaponry, not that it can't be effective when used properly. And did you see the phase pistols they used? Terribly obsolete. Thank goodness they aren't using the projectile weapons we saw in the storeroom." He patted the back of the copilot's chair. "Shian, sit here. And Takni, sit on your father's lap. Now we will just strap you in..."

Takni, driven to the limit, began to cry noisily as Shran snugly fastened the strap around her and her father. Sharith wondered aloud where he was supposed to sit, Shian spoke soothingly to his daughter, and Shran ordered everyone to shut up, because his consort, while an excellent pilot, did a better job if it was quiet. Reed fastened his safety harness and tried to shut out all the noise. He needed to focus on one thing, and one thing only: piloting them out of here.

The engine rumbled when he started it, then hitched, making the shuttle, which had started to rise, settle back down to the ground with a cruel bump that made Takni and Sharith shriek. Reed hadn't taken into account the extra weight of the passengers. He hastily recalculated the power requirements against the weight and tried again. This time, they took off drunkenly, nose well below tail, giving Takni a terrifying view of the looming ground as they whipped through a small copse of trees, shearing off branches as they went. Her noisy crying turned into a shrill scream. Two of their Andorian pursuers hit the ground to get out of the way. Reed couldn't tell if one of them was Parah, but he doubted it. She probably had dibs on the bazooka. He pulled up, and the shuttle, engine laboring, climbed. Reed increased speed, keen to get out of range of the bazooka before it could be fired.

"Higher! Higher!" Shran screeched from somewhere behind him.

"I'm doing the best I can!" Reed bellowed as he managed to straighten out the shuttle's slight roll, only to compensate too far to starboard. "Bloody hell!" he swore as he overcompensated in the other direction, and a moment later, something hit them very hard, the engine stalled, and they went into a tight spin.

"—before they reload!" Reed heard Shran finish over the others' screaming, and he realized that his poor piloting had probably just saved their lives. Thanks to all the rolling, the bazooka hadn't been able to get a clear shot, and its explosive projectile had only clipped the shuttle.

The shuttle didn't have wings to speak of, so Reed was going to have to restart the engine to break out of the spin. The cacophony in the shuttle receded as he focused completely. His hand slapped the console as he reengaged the engine, applying the starboard thrusters to stop the rotation. They came out of the spin, but they were still losing altitude. He could see the figures below him scatter out of the way as he gently lifted out of the dive, skimming the ground with just centimeters to spare.

The shuttle swooped back up and began to ascend. He had figured out how to compensate for the weight, but a quick glance at the console readouts indicated that the bazooka shot had taken out the port thrusters—it had been sheer luck that he'd used the undamaged starboard thrusters to halt their spin or they'd be splattered on the ground—and their power levels were dropping. His hands were perfectly steady as he coaxed the maximum performance possible out of the damaged shuttle, but he seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. He took several deep gulps of air, registering other sounds in the cabin as he did.

Next to Reed in the copilot's seat, Takni's hysterical cries had calmed to more tolerable snifflings under her father's murmured assurances, and a triumphant shout from Shran at their escape almost drowned out a plaintive inquiry from Sharith about where they'd go now.

But before they could go anywhere, they had to make sure they could get there.

"We've cleared the atmosphere," Reed said loudly, and everyone instantly quieted. "Shran, please make sure the pressure will hold in the cabin. Sharith, we have two suits in the storage locker back there. Please get them."

"One for Shian and Takni, the other for you," Shran said firmly.

Reed's head snapped around to look at him. He had intended for Shran to take the suit. But Reed had the intel in his possession, so in the context of their mission, he was, at the moment, the more valuable commodity. He couldn't say that in front of Shian and Sharith, the latter of whom was now struggling forward with one of the bulky suits. And even if he broke protocol and tried to pass the data disk back to Shran, thereby showing Shian and Sharith that they had it, his actions would simply result in another argument about who was in charge.

"You are the pilot," Shran noted. His eyes held Reed's. Reed was surprised to see that they were silently begging.

"I may be the pilot, but I am yours," Reed said quietly. "I will do as you ask, only to obey you, but I urge you to reconsider. My life would mean nothing without you. I wish you to take the suit." There. He'd said what he needed to say. Parts of it might even have been true.

"Beloved of my heart," Shran said, the translation coming just a moment after the spontaneous Andorian words poured from him. He grabbed Reed's head and kissed him hard on the lips. "Noble consort. You have saved my life a thousand times over. I anticipate you will do so again." He grabbed a helmet from Sharith and thrust it at Reed, who automatically took it. "Don the suit."

"I could don the suit," Sharith suggested tentatively.

"No!" Shran and Shian said simultaneously.

"As a member of the Brotherhood of the Electronic Arts, Reed is uniquely qualified to fly this contraption," Shran announced. "He wears a suit. If something happens to the shuttle, he can fix it. Shian and Takni, you will take the other suit." He drew himself to his full height. "It is merely a precaution. None of us will die this day."

"We've achieved orbit," Reed said, standing up. He set the helmet on the pilot's chair and reached for a suit. "The pressure is holding nicely, but we don't have a lot of fuel left. It's going to get cold." He kicked off his shoes and stepped into the suit. To his surprise, Shran solicitously helped him, holding the back collar so Reed could reach his arms in more easily. "Shian, is there someone we can hail? A friend of yours on the planet we can attempt to reach?"

Shian shook his head. "No. No one."

"Didn't I hear you say, back at the warehouse, that you had a plan for getting away from Parah?" Reed asked.

"This was it," came the candid reply.

Reed let out a low growl of frustration. He'd been banking on the possibility that the shuttle would hold up long enough to get them to whatever form of transportation Shian had planned to use in his own getaway.

"Reed?" Shran asked sharply as Reed settled the suit around his shoulders.

"There wasn't enough power or control to get us very high," Reed admitted. "We're too close to the gravity well. Our orbit will decay quickly." At Shran's sharp expression, he hastily added, "It may be helpful; the friction may heat the shuttle, so we won't freeze to death." What he didn't say was that they would burn up as they raced down through the atmosphere. Shran, he knew, was aware of that fact, but there was no sense in alarming the others.

But once again, Sharith showed he wasn't quite as dumb as he acted. "Those of us without suits..." he started, but was unable to finish the thought out loud.

"Could we stay up here for a few hours, then land?" Shian wondered. "We could land on the other side of the planet. It would take Parah days to get to us." He threw up a hand; his other arm was cradled around his daughter. "What am I saying? I'm sure Parah has off-world friends who could get to us sooner. Oh, thank you." The latter was directed at Sharith, who had brought him the other suit.

"We can't stay up for a few hours. The power won't last that long," Reed said bluntly. He began shutting down nonessential systems—not that there were many in a ship this size—to conserve energy. "We have perhaps twenty minutes."

"That soon?" Sharith asked in surprise, looking over from his attempt to help his brother into the suit. "I thought if we got to the shuttle, everything would be all right."

Ignoring Sharith's comment, Shran wondered aloud, "Some sort of orbital communications array, perhaps?" At Sharith's blank look, he clarified, "Some kind of orbiting station. Where we could go?"

"Oh. I suppose there must be." Sharith pondered as Shian struggled to figure out a way to attach his daughter to his torso. "I just don't know about it," he added.

"Running a scan," said Reed, back in the pilot's seat. He hadn't put the suit's gloves on yet, or the helmet; he didn't want to lose mobility. "Uh-oh," he said as a telltale glowed on a readout. He activated a screen set in the helm console.

Alerted by Reed's tone, Shran asked sharply, "What is it?"

"Two ships are converging on us." He checked another screen. "And—I have found ten communications arrays."

"Are any close by?"

"Two, practically speaking, with our power reserves. Both are unstaffed, automatic only."

"Surely some kind of on-demand life-support system, for maintenance—"

"One would think," Reed agreed. "We members of the Brotherhood of Electronic Arts can work with something like that."

"Especially if you have a space suit," Sharith put in.

"Sharith!" said Shran, Reed, and Shian simultaneously.

Reed seated his helmet, and suddenly, everything became quiet. As he pulled on his gloves and sealed them, he said, "Sound," and on cue, a tinny voice he barely recognized as Shran's came over the in-helmet speaker. "I'm rather afraid they're going to shoot at us—"

Reed flicked his gaze over the helmet's inboard control readout, activating his external speaker so the others could hear him. "Shran, phase cannons," he ordered. "Sharith, get Shian and Takni in that suit. _Now._"

Sharith jumped to it, clearly motivated by Reed's tense tone.

The bulky suit made it hard for Reed to work fluidly. At least now he could literally turn off distractions; all he had to do was say "sound" to toggle the speakers on and off, but he found he didn't want to. He wanted to hear Shran's voice.

"They are taking aim," he heard Shran say. Then, after a moment, "Firing phase cannons now." Other words followed, words that, for Reed, meant they were in battle, together, the two of them again.

"There is no one..." he said, and he must have said it aloud, because Shran, standing braced between him and the occupied copilot's seat where he could reach the weapons controls, turned to him as the shuttle shuddered and foundered. He finished the thought. "There is no one I would rather have at my side in battle than you, Thy'lek, my beloved." He used Shran's given name and the Andorian word for "beloved," and the UT obediently repeated it in English: beloved, doubled. Shran looked absurdly small, blue, and defenseless against the sweep of stars behind him, clearly moved. The gravity fluctuated, making Reed's stomach turn. A small ship matched their course, easily keeping pace. He didn't look at it. He looked at Shran. It might be his last opportunity. "Setting course for the nearest communication array," he said at last, and time started moving again.

"They are firing again," Shran called. "Brace for impact."

A moment later, the impact came. An underwhelming, heavy thud was followed by a slow yawing of the ship.

"Direct hit!" Shran called, and the engine died, the low, slow rumble under their feet giving way to nothing.

There was no way they could make it to the communication array. It had become a futile goal. They should not be running; they should be preparing to be boarded.

Reed could hear Takni's crying, loud and shrill, through the suit-to-suit speaker. The lights flickered, then faded. They'd lost the last of their power. A low, heavy thud hit the hatch. If the hostile ship didn't use a portable airlock, Shran would die when they opened it and all the air evacuated. He turned clumsily in his seat, trying to catch a glimpse of Shran, but Sharith, his hands over his mouth in horror, was blocking his view.

The hatch blew.

"No!" Reed screamed, and the world dissolved, just as he knew it would if Shran should die.

### CHAPTER 11

"No!" Reed was screaming as his being reconstituted itself, molecule by molecule, in a sharp, bright world.

He fell to his knees. He couldn't see anything but T'Pol standing at the transporter controls in front of him. The helmet blocked his peripheral vision.

"Lieutenant," T'Pol said sharply.

"Shran had no suit," he rasped. "Shran and—and one other Andorian. No suits."

"Five life signs have been transported aboard_,_" T'Pol said. "We got your message." The deck shifted slightly under them, and she said, "We have achieved warp."

Good. He couldn't get away from that planet quickly enough. Reed reached up with hands clumsy with cumbersome gloves and sharply twisted his helmet to release it. He breathed clean, exhilarating air—he hadn't realized how bad the air on board the shuttle had gotten. Now that his vision was unobstructed, he saw Shran on his knees, coughing, with Sharith behind him, pounding helpfully on his back, and over there—yes, an oddly bulky EV suit. It was Shian, holding Takni inside the suit. Shian's arms weren't in the suit's sleeves, which hung ridiculously at the sides.

"It's about time, T'Pol," Shran gasped. He waved Sharith away. "I'm fine. Stop it. See to your brother. Help him out of his suit." As he got to his feet, he gestured at T'Pol. "This is my Vulcan liaison."

T'Pol crossed her arms and cocked her head, clearly interested. Reed, stripping off his gloves, was suddenly quite glad that she wore one of her ridiculously tight catsuits, this one a deep red that suited her coloring, instead of a uniform. Her rank insignia were absent, he noted. There was nothing about her to indicate that she was serving aboard a Starfleet vessel—or a Vulcan one, for that matter.

"So it was all true—" Sharith breathed. "—what you said about the Vulcan–Andorian alliance."

"Of course it was true," Shran said in a voice hoarse from almost being asphyxiated by the explosive decompression of the shuttle. He wiped a speck of dust from his lapel—an absurd gesture, considering he was grimy from head to foot from the debris flung up during their run from Parah Ushaan, followed by the firefight in orbit. "T'Pol, I have absolute proof regarding the data theft, as well as the identities of the perpetrators." He paused dramatically.

"Do go on," T'Pol invited. Reed noticed she didn't address him by rank or name.

"It goes much further than we thought," Shran said.

Reed glanced quickly at the other Andorians, but Sharith was absorbed in trying to help Shian and Takni from the suit, and neither of the men appeared to be paying attention to the conversation. As far as Reed knew, Shian was only aware of the information he himself had stolen, and Sharith was even more clueless; it would be better for them if it stayed that way. Reed cleared his throat and, when Shran looked at him, he jerked his head toward the knot of Andorians.

Shran nodded his understanding and gestured for Reed to turn the disk over to T'Pol. As Reed did so, Shran said off-handedly, "I assume your colleague, that walking bit of excrement, Archer, is somewhere about."

"I suspect that is true," T'Pol said neutrally.

"My consort and I would be happy to see him again. Archer does like Andorian ale. That is his great advantage. You, as I remember, do not like Andorian ale."

"Your consort," T'Pol repeated, her eyes flicking to Sharith, then to Shian, who had released Takni and was struggling out of his suit. Her gaze then went to Reed, where it lingered.

"Yes," Shran said. "No doubt you're surprised Reed and I are still together."

"Not at all," she responded.

T'Pol had bland down to a fine art, but she was more sanguine than usual, almost as if she had known about their relationship before Shran had brought it up. No, that couldn't be possible, Reed told himself. Shran was just filling her in on part of their cover story, and she was just following his lead in front of people whose relation to the mission she hadn't yet determined.

"It is true," she continued, "the behavior of Andorians and humans often puzzles me, but I find that reasonableness in business matters does much to mitigate irrational behavior in one's personal life. Shall we leave your Andorian colleagues here and discuss business privately?"

"You called him 'lieutenant'," Sharith suddenly shrilled, pointing at Reed. "I heard you. When we first got here."

"An old nickname," Reed said smoothly as he stepped out of the suit. His shoes had been left on the shuttle, but it didn't matter. He felt better simply for having the heavy suit off. It was much easier to dissemble convincingly when he was comfortable. "I was briefly in the military while on Earth."

"May we take you somewhere?" T'Pol asked Sharith politely. "The trade planet, perhaps?"

Sharith relayed this information in Andorian to his brother, who shuddered and said something.

Shran translated, "Shian suggests a nice out-of-the-way planet, on the chilly side."

"They should wait here," T'Pol said, and Sharith nodded his understanding.

T'Pol looked intently at the trio of Andorians. "Are they well? I could arrange for a doctor."

"That might be a good idea," Shran said. "The little one has been through a traumatic experience."

T'Pol gazed at the child who, again ensconced in her father's arms, hid her face against his chest. At least Takni had stopped crying. Reed hadn't fully appreciated how soothing he found _Enterprise_'s confines until he'd been yanked away from the chaos on the shuttle.

"Of course." T'Pol turned to Shran and Reed. "Gentlemen? This way, please."

Reed noted with approval that T'Pol locked the control panel for the transporter before they left. As they walked through the archway into the corridor, he saw two MACOs, one stationed on either side of the entrance. At a word from T'Pol, they began stripping identifying insignia from their camouflage uniforms, making them appear like professional hired guns, an impression heightened by the wicked-looking phase rifles they held.

Despite being one of the busier corridors on the ship—entrances to engineering, the mess hall, and sickbay were all on this deck—no one else was in sight. "I had the corridors cleared when we transported you in," T'Pol informed Reed before he could ask. "They will stay cleared until I give another order."

Reed was impressed by T'Pol's foresight. He knew she'd spent time in the Vulcan equivalent of intelligence service, but this was indeed exceptional planning to cover all possible contingencies. "Thank you, Commander," he said quietly as he padded down the hall in his stocking feet next to her. "I do like your timing."

"You cut it quite fine," Shran grumped.

Anticipating that Shran might take this opportunity to start haranguing T'Pol, Reed hastily asked her, "How did you find us?"

T'Pol walked a few more steps, then turned to face him. "We received your message through the Boomer network." She cast a glance down the corridor and apparently judged them to be a sufficient distance from the transporter alcove to prevent being overheard by the other Andorians. "Before you are debriefed by Captain Archer, permit me to show you this." She unclipped the padd at her hip and pressed a button.

"Oh, dear," Reed said a moment later as he gazed with a sinking heart at the recording of him and Shran in Sharith's bed. "That's, uh—I can explain."

"I thought that was a private recording!" Shran said, outraged. "I was assured it hadn't been disseminated."

"Please moderate your voice," T'Pol said quietly with a significant glance back down the corridor toward the transporter alcove. "I'm afraid it has been disseminated," she continued, not sounding at all sorry. "Tracing its origin helped me pinpoint your location on the planet. I was about to make contact when your shuttle achieved orbit and then was engaged."

"Does Captain Archer—that is to say—" Reed stuttered. How was he going to explain this? Covert ops only went so far. "Oh, god," he groaned. "Facial recognition software—endless dissemination on public webs—I can imagine what will happen if my mother or sister sees it." He deliberately refused to think what his father's reaction would be. Although his father professed to honor Reed's preferences, he was noticeably chilly about it, and it was another thing altogether to see one's son with another man, instead of just knowing about it in the abstract.

"The audience for this sort of thing is rather specialized," Shran pointed out, mollified somewhat by his own reasoning. "I'm sure your mother will never see it. I didn't know you had a sister." He sounded interested.

"Yes," Reed said, voice strangled, wondering why Shran was curious about his sister. "Yes. I do."

"We posed as a couple for reasons too tedious to go into," Shran told T'Pol in a businesslike manner. "I'm sure our results speak for themselves. With any covert ops mission, it doesn't do to look too closely at the methods." He tapped the padd for emphasis, adding, "One always finds out something one wishes one hadn't. I assume we are taking this moment to get our stories straight, you and I. What else did you stumble across during your part of the mission, T'Pol?"

"It doesn't do to look too closely at the methods," T'Pol echoed his words. "I thought you should know that this recording has appeared. I was looking for traces of you. I doubt others were. It was...difficult to find you, thanks to the low level of technology on the planet, and your failure to be at the specified coordinates."

"We crashed, which resulted in some systems problems—which apparently included the location transponder," Reed explained, but T'Pol only nodded as she affixed the padd to her waist.

"I see no need for Captain Archer to learn of this recording. Of course I will delete it from my padd when the mission is complete." She stepped over to a nearby wall intercom and activated it. "T'Pol to Phlox."

As she gave orders to Phlox to attend to their guests, Reed pulled Shran aside. "We don't have much time," he said urgently. "They knew enough to clear the corridor because of our guests, and from the way T'Pol is acting, this might not be over. It looks like we're maintaining our cover. We need to talk. I'll come to your quarters tonight."

Shran's antennae dipped, in agreement or puzzlement or some other emotion, Reed couldn't tell. "Yes, of course. I would enjoy that," he commented. "And if we are to part, I would like the opportunity to say farewell." He hesitated. "What do you wish me to tell Archer?"

"The truth," Reed insisted. A vision of Archer's face, the surprised hurt caused by betrayal on it, rose in his mind's eye. The embarrassment of Archer knowing about some of his actions while undercover would be nothing compared to what he'd gone through when he'd lost Archer's trust by lying to him about Phlox's whereabouts when the doctor had been kidnapped by the Klingons. He'd sworn to himself that he'd never do that again. He rationalized that his relationship with Shran had absolutely no bearing on their mission, and even if it came up, which it probably wouldn't, they could sell it as a cover that worked particularly well with family-centric Andorians. "Whatever he asks, we tell the truth. In as few words as possible."

After what seemed like a long stretch of silence, Shran nodded once. "Good," he approved. "Very good."

T'Pol, turning back from the communications panel, informed them, "Doctor Phlox is on his way to attend to the others, and the captain requests our presence in his ready room for debriefing. The doctor can look at your injury first, if you wish."

T'Pol was staring at his cheek. Reed had forgotten about the scrape he'd sustained when he'd fallen to the pavement outside the warehouse, but now that she'd mentioned it, he was aware of the slight burning sensation there. He touched his cheek carefully, and drew his hand away to look at his fingertips. There was no blood; the scrape had stopped bleeding.

"It's nothing," he said dismissively. "However, Shran was affected by the decompression. He ought to go."

"Certainly not," Shran said in his hoarse voice, looking stung at the mere idea of any sort of momentary physical weakness. "Let's not keep Captain Archer waiting."

With a dip of her head, T'Pol turned to lead the way. Reed set his shoulders and followed her, aware of Shran's arrogant stride by his side. A little scrape was indeed nothing when Shran was next to him. But he did wish he could stop by his quarters for some footwear.

* * *

"An interesting mission, I take it?" Archer was gazing in bemusement at Reed's sock-clad feet.

The captain had to know that he and Shran had been plucked off the doomed shuttle in the nick of time, but Reed had already decided that it would be best not to offer unsolicited information that had no relevance to the mission. "You have no idea how interesting, sir," he said, and left it at that.

"And a very successful mission," Shran put in smoothly, drawing Archer's attention away from Reed. "We have obtained irrefutable evidence of the person ultimately responsible not only for stealing data from the Andorian–Vulcan project, but from similar projects throughout this sector."

Archer's eyebrow arched, his demeanor becoming serious. "More than just the one project?"

"Yes." Shran looked to T'Pol, who handed the data disk to Archer. "That is the information stolen from a number of sensitive weapons and defense projects, including one based on Earth. It was in the possession of an Andorian by the name of Parah Ushaan. She arranged for the theft and was planning to sell the data."

"We believe we found the stolen data before she could do that," Reed added quickly. "That," he said, gesturing at the disk in Archer's hand, "appears to be the only copy of the bits and pieces that were sneaked out of various facilities."

Archer sank into the chair at his ready room desk. "The Romulans, the Klingons, the Orions, even disenfranchised groups from the worlds sponsoring the projects, would go to great lengths to obtain this information. Think of the havoc they could cause with this. If you hadn't found this when you did..." He trailed off.

"Indeed," Shran said with a supercilious smirk. "You may thank us now."

"Perhaps not," T'Pol interjected coolly. "I came across references to a Parah Ushaan in my investigation."

"She is the one responsible," Shran reiterated. "Andorian authorities will move to apprehend her as soon as I contact them."

"That is good, but the thefts of sensitive information are not her doing. From my investigation, I have deduced that Parah Ushaan is merely a figurehead. Perhaps 'middleman' would be a more appropriate term. I have proof that orders were passed on to her, directing her to commit the espionage."

T'Pol's announcement was met by silence. All three men looked at her, Reed and Shran with expressions of disbelief, and Archer with curiosity. She didn't falter under their gazes. If anything, she became more confident. She looked levelly at Reed. "I came across this information while scanning planetary transmissions as I searched for your location. There were a number of coded messages to and from Parah Ushaan, which I was able to decrypt. She may have been directing the thefts, but it was at the order of someone else—someone on that planet."

Reed could hardly believe that all their work, and all the hardships and aggravation he'd had to put up with, wasn't going to topple the entire organization. The fact that T'Pol had come across evidence of another mastermind higher up than Parah while looking for him and Shran, and in the process had found the recording, was just another in the series of bizarre twists their mission had taken. Reed closed his eyes as he felt a headache starting.

"Well, that explains a lot," Shran said.

Reed's eyes snapped open. Shran didn't seem particularly upset. His antennae were gently waving, more indicative of thoughtfulness than surprise.

"You have to admit," Shran said to Reed, "Parah didn't seem very organized, or smart, for that matter. Her capture of us might simply have been serendipitous."

"You were captured?" Archer asked sharply.

"Only for a few minutes," Shran said dismissively. He barked a harsh laugh. "And she thought someone of my bearing would consider becoming her chan."

"We're getting off topic here," Reed cut in quickly, throwing Shran a warning glance. He turned to Archer. "Sir, it is imperative that we find the person or persons in charge, not only to bring them to justice, but to make sure there isn't another copy of the stolen information at large."

"But you just said this—" Archer held up the disk. "—was the original, and no copies were made."

"That was before we knew someone was directing Parah Ushaan's movements," Reed said. "The disk may have been planted so we would find it and leave. Then the real mastermind could sell the information at his leisure, without the threat of being discovered. He might also have been setting Parah up to take the fall for him."

"First things first," Archer said. He handed the disk to T'Pol. "Do an analysis. I want to know if any copies were made from this, or if it's a copy itself."

"That may be impossible to determine," T'Pol warned.

"Wait." Reed fumbled for his padd. "Take this as well," he directed T'Pol. "I have a copy here of data that was stolen from the Andorian–Vulcan project, which we obtained on the trade planet. If that disk contains congruent information, then it's both genuine and up to date. If not—" He trailed off unhappily. "We may have obtained the only copy of the information from the Andorian–Vulcan project, and so it won't be on the disk," he added. "But perhaps you can cross-check it in terms of data encryption, source, and so on. The data on the disk appeared legitimate to Shran when we previewed it." At Archer's inquiring glance, he said, "I had to rely on Shran for that; I can't read Andorian."

T'Pol accepted the padd. "This is most helpful. I will begin my analysis immediately," she said.

"Do the best you can," Archer told her. "In the meantime," he said, looking at Reed, "get some rest. And have that looked at." He pointed at Reed's cheek.

"There is still the matter of our guests," Reed said. "If it's true that there is someone besides Parah Ushaan in charge, they are suspects. At the least, they could be valuable sources of information."

Shran burst into a gale of laughter that turned into coughing because of his raw throat and lungs, but he waved off help. When he finally caught his breath, he said, "Oh, Reed! So serious all the time. Such an endearing trait. But we've already established that Shian was coerced into stealing data because of his daughter, and we both know Sharith is an insufferable idiot. He could no more run a criminal organization than—" He tilted his head as he looked at Reed. "You know, I can't think of anything suitably incompetent to compare him to."

"We'll still keep an eye on them," Archer said. He looked at T'Pol. "I take it they don't know they're on a Starfleet vessel?"

"No, sir. They do not."

"Let's keep it that way. Find some quarters for them," Archer ordered, "but make it clear they are not to venture out unless accompanied by you, Malcolm, or Shran. Have their meals, and anything else they need, brought to them. Station a guard outside their quarters." He addressed the two men. "We'll meet again after T'Pol runs her analysis. I suggest you get some rest. Welcome back, gentlemen. Well done."

* * *

Reed sent Shran to sickbay, then stopped in his quarters to shower, shave, change into clean civilian clothes, and get a pair of boots. Feeling more human, he walked into sickbay to find that Shran had already been treated and released, and that Doctor Phlox was still away attending to the other Andorians and getting them settled in a guest cabin. His abrasion was treated by a med tech, who also gave him an analgesic for his headache without doing a medical scan after he pulled rank on her. The last thing he'd wanted was to be cooped up in sickbay waiting for Phlox to check his recovery from a concussion, which a scan surely would have revealed.

As soon as he was finished in sickbay, Reed headed to the cabin assigned to Shran. The ship seemed quiet as Reed walked the corridors, but then, they had arrived after dinner, and it was now growing late. He saw very few people, and none in the corridor where Shran's cabin was located.

"This is the same cabin I had the last time I was a guest aboard your ship," Shran said as he stood aside for Reed to enter after opening the door.

Reed stepped in and closed the door behind him. He noticed Shran's face had darkened. No doubt the Andorian was remembering that awful time when _Enterprise_ had rescued him after his ship, the _Kumari,_ had been destroyed. But all thoughts of the past fled as Shran turned abruptly to him with an intensity in his eyes that made Reed's pulse quicken.

"The captain ordered us to rest," Reed protested weakly as Shran stepped closer.

"So he did," Shran murmured. "And so we shall, in this bed." He kissed Reed briefly, then again lingeringly. "I feared for our lives," he said. "I found I feared for yours more than my own."

Reed briefly closed his eyes, shoving back the memory of the hatch cracking open and the air rushing out. His despair at the notion of Shran's imminent death had overwhelmed him. "I feared for yours too," he whispered. He let Shran capture his lips again, feeling fire rush through him. Relief and desire mingled in the pit of his stomach. "What are we to do?" he asked as Shran began unfastening his shirt.

Shran didn't pretend to misunderstand the question. "You may come aboard my ship as my consort," he suggested.

"I don't think I would like sharing you with two others," Reed said, his own fingers busy on Shran's clothing.

"My family's exalted position means that I am permitted to be eccentric," Shran said. "There are no others. Now take your shoes off, please."

Reed kicked off his boots and Shran pushed him backward onto the bed. For once, the two of them had a wide bed, one meant for two humans—a luxury afforded guests, if not crew members like Reed. He lifted his hips so Shran could tug off his trousers. Shran stayed between his legs, stroking Reed's stomach as Reed gently clasped his own erection. He knew Shran wanted to watch him.

"My service in the Imperial Guard is for life," Shran continued. "I have been given to understand that service in Starfleet is for a shorter term. Could you come to me when your term is completed?"

"I don't know," Reed said. He hadn't thought that far ahead. He thought he'd make Starfleet his career. And he noticed that Shran wasn't volunteering to come to Earth, or to join Reed. If he went with Shran, practically speaking, he'd have to trade Earth for Andoria. He wasn't sure he was prepared to do that. He also had to admit that Shran's harping on his family's status and importance—assuming Shran could be believed—had him worried; Reed's own family was far less illustrious, but just as proud. "We should discuss this later, when I can think clearly," he said as Shran bent to kiss his stomach. "Before I forget—in my pocket."

Shran obediently slid off Reed and dug through Reed's discarded trousers. "This?" he asked, holding up a clear tube.

"Lubricant. It will make things much easier for me. I got it from my quarters when I stopped there earlier."

Shran clambered between Reed's legs again. "I would like to see your quarters," he mused, uncapping the tube and experimentally squirting a little of the substance on his fingers. "Oh, I see," he said. He added more lubricant to the small amount in his hand. "Some for you, and some for me." He stroked some onto Reed's erection, then followed suit with his own.

"Come here first," Reed commanded, and Shran flipped the cap closed and extended himself forward, to lie on Reed's stomach. Reed shifted them onto their sides and lifted a leg. "Touch here. Oh, yes. There."

"I want to see images of your family—of your parents and your sister," Shran continued as his slick fingers probed. "Of yourself when a child."

"Family is very important on Andoria, isn't it?" Reed smiled indulgently. "My family is not particularly close."

"Nevertheless. Friends and colleagues come and go, but family..." Shran trailed off as Reed reached down and began to stroke Shran. Reed threw his head back invitingly, and Shran leaned in to kiss him, fingers still teasing his opening as Reed stroked both of them.

It was far less painful with the lubricant, as Reed had known it would be. When Shran pierced him, pulling Reed's body onto his thighs as Reed lay on his back, Reed felt it to his core. When the hard length had slid fully into him, Shran began to gently rock back and forth, bumping a place deep inside. Shran's fingers clenched on his buttocks as Reed abandoned himself to sensation. He heard himself saying, "There, there, oh please don't stop," and then he wasn't aware of himself at all, because the heat Shran evoked blossomed outward. Reed's hand stroked in tempo with Shran's shallow thrusts. When he tipped into orgasm, Shran, gasping, sped up, driving hard and deep, riding Reed through the wave of pleasure, deepening it. When the sensation receded, Reed relaxed, running fingers through the warm puddle on his chest and belly. He watched as Shran drove himself to ecstasy in his body, the deep, solid thrusts sparking warmth as Shran cried out. There was no UT to translate the word, but Reed heard it anyway: Beloved.

"To see your pleasure with me inside you—" Shran said, sounding amazed. "I quite like that," he added. He touched Reed's face. "Malcolm," he said tenderly.

"Thy'lek," Reed responded. He reached up an arm, silently beckoning, and Shran pulled out. Reed wasn't sleepy. In fact, the idea of he and Shran being parted made him eager for another encounter. They lay on their sides facing each other, legs entwined, not kissing, merely...looking. Reed occasionally touched Shran's coarse white hair or Shran's blue cheek, but it was Shran's eyes that held him, dark and direct.

"I have become my cover identity," Reed mused after a long while. "I long for my consort. I wish him to overmaster me."

"It brings you joy," Shran said. "Perhaps this is what you truly desire. Your fate is to be my consort. Your service on this ship is the covert op."

Reed smiled. "Perhaps," he murmured, enjoying the sensation of being the focus of Shran's absolute attention. "As long as you understand that when I see Captain Archer, I play a role meant to protect us both."

"I too play a role," Shran informed him. "And I do not see how denying what we share together protects either of us."

"Really? I was given to understand that your family would be shocked."

Shran's antennae waved as if dismissing the notion. "Merely because they disapprove of non-Andorians. I'm sure they would like you, if they met you. Such denial protects you?"

"Not protects," Reed hedged. "It would merely be...easier if I did not have to explain myself to Captain Archer."

"You are embarrassed?"

Shran didn't sound upset, but Reed chose his words carefully. "No," he answered. "I present myself a certain way on board ship, and it would be convenient if I could continue to present myself in this manner."

"Another covert op." Shran laid a hand on Reed's head and stroked Reed's cheek with his thumb. "I have seen you being yourself. I did not realize how rare this was. I am indeed honored." The stroking changed, and Shran tilted Reed's head toward the light. "Does it hurt?" Shran asked. "You were scraped here. It is still raw."

"No, it doesn't hurt," Reed said truthfully, putting his hand over Shran's on his cheek. "It is nothing. I was inside a suit. I worry about you. Your voice is still hoarse."

Shran shook his head dismissively. "You are fortunate," he said, voice thick with emotion. "The hurt could have been much worse."

Reed took a deep breath. He made it a policy not to wonder about what might have happened on covert ops missions if things had gone differently, because that often led to second-guessing future decisions. But Shran was right—things could have been much worse; he could even have been killed. He knew the only reason he was thinking about it now was because Shran was beside him in bed, which was the same reason he'd been so anxious to get in and out of sickbay in such a hurry. He was with Shran, and they were finally alone. He wondered if it would be for the last time.

Shran sensed his distraction, for he asked, "What are you thinking?"

Reed shifted Shran's hand to his mouth and kissed the palm before holding it against his chest. "It was too easy."

Shran sat up halfway to better look at his face. "You've never complained about my lovemaking before," he said indignantly. "In fact, I distinctly remember a number of compliments."

Reed laughed quietly, then sobered. Even though they were in the privacy of Shran's quarters, he could almost feel the presence of the other people on the ship, and he could definitely feel the independence that was part of being a covert operative slipping away. He suspected he'd always feel this way on _Enterprise._ As was almost always the case when he was on board, his thoughts turned to his duties. Right now, those duties included figuring out who really was in charge of the criminal organization that had managed to steal all that classified data.

"Actually, I was thinking about our escape from the planet," he said.

"You call that easy?" Shran asked, his antennae uncurling to stand straight up. "If T'Pol hadn't found us, we'd either be atoms floating in space or splattered on that forsaken planet."

"No, really," Reed stated. "Think about it. We both know that getting into the warehouse and finding the disk went better than we could have expected. For heaven's sake! The cameras were off and the door was unlocked. It was too easy, even if Shian paved the way."

Shran made a sound of agreement. For once, Reed was glad to see that Shran had moved effortlessly from lover to soldier. He didn't know if he'd be able to concentrate if Shran hadn't, what with being in bed with him. Reed took the opportunity to sit up and swing his legs over the edge of the bed.

"As far as getting out of the warehouse, I don't think Parah was supposed to stop us. In fact, I think she had orders to the contrary." Reed gave Shran a wry smile. "I mean, couldn't she just as easily have stunned you and then asked you to be her chan after you woke up? Instead, she chose to engage you in conversation, and give you another chance to get away almost immediately."

"Now that you mention it..." Shran said thoughtfully. He brightened. "My personal magnetism probably made her defy her orders. She just _had_ to talk to me."

Reed snorted.

"You, on the other hand," Shran mused. "If she wanted you dead, why didn't she kill you when she had the chance? She obviously didn't like you."

Reed threw his arms wide. "That's what I'm trying to tell you! She should have killed me then and there. How many men were there with her? And they all missed when she told them to kill me? I find that almost impossible to believe. And another thing..." Reed got to his feet and began pulling on his trousers. At Shran's puzzled look, he said, "I'm hungry. I'll bring some food back from the mess."

"No, I'll come with you," Shran said.

Fastening his shirt, Reed continued, "Parah has a fascination with antique weaponry. Remember the bazooka? Yet I was hit by an energy weapon set on stun. And when we were being chased through the forest from the warehouse, all the shots were from energy weapons. Why weren't some or all of her men using the old-fashioned projectile weapons she favors—the weapons we saw in the warehouse?"

"Those often result in unavoidable fatal wounds," Shran admitted. "By using energy weapons set on lower settings that wouldn't result in permanent damage, she was making sure we weren't killed."

"Exactly. We just assumed their weapons were set to kill."

Shran rose from the bed and padded over to his clothing. He stepped into his pants and pulled them up. "But once we reached the shuttle and were on the verge of getting away, why did she try to stop us, if in fact her orders were to let us go?" In the process of slipping on his shirt, he stopped and shook his head. "Maybe it was just a lucky shot with the bazooka, instead of what she hoped would be a convincing but unsuccessful effort to bring us down."

"That could be. She may not have realized how badly damaged the shuttle was to begin with. You saw how much trouble I was having flying it. I may have inadvertently lined it up with what was supposed to be a wide shot," Reed said. He slipped his boots on. "Something still feels off, though. I can't put my finger on it."

Before Shran could say anything, the chime to the cabin rang. Reed, hastily tucking in his shirt, looked inquiringly at Shran.

Shran shrugged. "I'm not expecting anyone. Archer and I have already drunk our Andorian ale."

Reed walked over to the door and opened it. "Trip!"

"You're a hard man to find, Malcolm," Tucker greeted him. "I went by your quarters, but you weren't there."

Reed, aware of Shran putting his boots on in the background, knew how this must look to Tucker. It was bad enough that T'Pol knew, but if Tucker ever found out, he'd never hear the end of it. There was also the possibility it could change how Tucker treated him not only as a coworker, but as a friend. But Reed had a perfect out. "Shran and I were going over some of the mission details," he said blandly, hoping Tucker wouldn't make anything of the messy bed, with covers and pillows askew.

Tucker peered past him and waved. "Hello, Commander," he said to Shran.

"Commander Tucker," Shran replied in his newly raspy voice.

Reed waited, but Tucker just stood there expectantly. He was probably waiting to be invited in, Reed realized. "Look, Trip. I can't talk about the mission. It's still classified."

Tucker looked disappointed, but he seemed to understand. "I know, Malcolm. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. You have a tendency to get banged up—" Was it Reed's imagination, or did Tucker stutter over that phrase? "—when you're on a special assignment."

"Thanks, Trip. I appreciate your concern," Reed said. And he did, really. He just hoped Tucker could tell. He raised a hand to the door controls. "Thanks for all your work with the ship. It saved our lives."

Tucker looked cheered. "The weapons system worked all right?"

"Perfectly." Before Tucker could suck him into a longer conversation, Reed said, "But it's really not a good time. I'll see you later. Er—lunch tomorrow, as usual?"

"Sure thing," Tucker said, looking a little wounded as the door closed.

Reed turned around, leaned against the door, and let out a long breath. He looked across the cabin to see Shran smiling at him.

"Are you and Commander Tucker...?" Shran asked.

"No," Reed replied shortly, running a hand through his hair to smooth it down. This was exactly the kind of awkward situation that had made him decide not to have an intimate relationship on the ship. "We're just coworkers...and friends."

The door chime rang again.

"Commander Tucker probably thought of something else he wants to ask you," Shran said. He appeared more amused than annoyed. "Would you like me to get rid of him?" he asked in a teasing tone. "We could ask him to get us some dinner. Then we can go back to bed."

"No!" Reed said, turning back to the door. Tucker would definitely know something was going on between the two of them if Shran did that. He opened the door, but to his surprise, he saw not Tucker but Sharith. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?" Reed demanded, grabbing the Andorian and dragging him into the cabin, but not before he looked both ways down the corridor to make sure no one was around to have been seen by Sharith. He was still a suspect, and the longer they could keep him from finding out he was on a Starfleet vessel, the better.

Sharith stumbled a step or two, then regained his balance. His wide eyes went from Reed to Shran and back. "I—I just wanted to make sure—I mean, I was worried about you." His eyes darted back to Shran. "Oh, and you too," he added, not very convincingly.

Reed cursed under his breath. He'd been looking forward to Sharith being confined to quarters, if only because he wouldn't be constantly pestered by him, but apparently Sharith's infatuation with him hadn't waned.

"You left so quickly," Sharith rambled on. "Then that strange doctor came and looked at us. And then that Vulcan, T'Pol, came back and told the doctor to take us to a cabin, and—"

"Sharith!" Reed glowered at the man.

"How did you find us?" Shran asked in that silky tone that always made Reed think of a cobra about to strike.

Sharith ducked his head. "Our cabin is down the corridor. I opened the door when I thought I heard Reed's voice. Then I saw a human dressed in blue walking away from this cabin."

Tucker had been wearing his uniform, Reed recalled. "Weren't there—?" Reed bit off the rest of what he was going to say. There should have been MACOs outside Sharith and Shian's cabin. Apparently there had been some sort of mixup in that regard. He resisted the urge to rush over to the intercom and call the bridge immediately. He'd have to take it up with T'Pol the next time he saw her.

Sharith was gazing intently at him. "You're acting differently," he said to Reed, who realized that he wasn't in character. Being on board _Enterprise_ had caused him to turn back into Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, and right now, he needed to be Reed, Shran's human consort.

"You just startled him, that's all," Shran said smoothly. "He always gets defensive when he's startled. Don't you, Reed?" He hooked an arm around Reed's neck and gave him a brief hug. "It's one reason not to annoy him," Shran added pointedly to Sharith, the rasp in his voice suddenly ominous.

Reed grunted as he forced himself to relax. As long as Sharith was here, he may as well try to pump him for information. He'd wanted to talk to Shian first, but as this mission had proven, things didn't always go according to plan. Maybe by appearing to be friendly, Sharith might let down his guard and tell them something of relevance, although Reed had his doubts. He caught Shran's eye as he settled firmly back into character. "Do we have any of that fabulous Andorian ale?"

Shran stared at Reed for a moment, then caught on. "Let me see if T'Pol has been her usual efficient self." As he moved toward a cabinet, he said for Sharith's benefit, "She's hospitable, for a Vulcan. The last time we were aboard her ship, she kindly provided a bottle for us. Ah, yes!" Shran turned from the cabinet with an unopened bottle of the distinctive blue alcohol in his grasp. "I see she's thought of everything."

Not everything, Reed thought, still fretting over the MACOs' absence as he went to find some glasses. Such a lapse was most unlike T'Pol: to remember ale, but forget a security detail? But Shran had occupied these quarters the last time he was on board. There was a good chance that Shran had simply left a bottle of his favorite drink behind. Or maybe Archer had left standing orders for the beverage to be available when Shran was on board.

Reed scrounged up the glasses, and Shran poured out three liberal libations. Sharith eagerly took a glass. Reed stared at him, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong—besides Sharith being able to sneak out of his cabin unobserved, that was.

Sharith fidgeted under his gaze, and looked toward Shran, who rescued him by lifting his glass. "A toast," Shran said, and added as an explanation to Sharith, "It's a custom on Earth. It's a way to share good wishes." He raised his glass, and when Reed followed suit, Sharith did too. "To having safely escaped that flying deathtrap!" Shran tossed back his drink, downing it in a single swallow. "Now you drink," he ordered Sharith, who obediently mimicked Shran and gulped the liquid down all at once.

At Shran's expressionless gaze, Reed tossed his back too. The ale burned a path down his throat to his stomach, where it settled into a nice warm glow. When he lowered his glass, Shran was already pouring out another portion for himself, but Sharith seemed to be having a problem.

"I'm not used to..._cough._..drinking it..._cough._..so quickly," Sharith gasped.

Shran reached over and heartily slapped him on the back, perhaps in retaliation for the back-pounding Sharith had given him after being transported, Reed thought in sly amusement.

And that's when what had been nagging at the back of his mind finally surfaced. Neither Shran nor Sharith had had space suits to protect them when the air had explosively vacated the shuttle after its hatch had been blown. They'd been transported only moments later, it was true, but it had been long enough to cause anyone not in a suit to have trouble breathing. Yet only Shran had been experiencing respiratory distress when they'd arrived on _Enterprise._ Even now, after being treated by Doctor Phlox, Shran had a raspy voice. Sharith hadn't had a bit of trouble breathing, much less speaking, as he had slapped away at the other man's back in the transporter room.

Sharith must have known in advance that the shuttle was going to be fired upon. And the only way he could have known that was to have been in contact with Parah. Or he had given Parah her orders to make their escape look convincing, but she had botched it. No matter what the scenario, Sharith had taken precautions he shouldn't have known to take. Reed's mind ran back to Sharith on board the shuttle, moments before they were transported out: he had cupped both his hands over his mouth. Reed had thought it was an expression of fear. Now he gave the gesture another interpretation.

Reed took a step toward him. "Where is it?" he asked.

Sharith, eyes watering after his bout of coughing, looked at him. "Where's what?"

Reed glared at him, angry at being played for a fool. All that time Sharith had been fawning over him, getting underfoot—it had been a ruse, just as surely as he and Shran had been playing their own roles.

"I'm still not sure Shian isn't in on this, but you knew we'd run for the shuttle. You hadn't planned on being on board, though, had you? But you had no choice when your brother decided that was his ticket out of there. Until then, you'd had all contingencies covered. You allowed yourself to be caught by us, and went with us to the warehouse to make sure we'd find that disk. But there was still a possibility that Parah, in her enthusiasm to make it look like we'd narrowly escaped, might accidentally damage the shuttle, and you'd seen us check the sealant and patches. You knew that was a weakness. You somehow managed to ensure your own private air supply on board—either you got your own out of the warehouse on the way out, or, more likely, you jury-rigged something when you brought the suits to me and Shian. It would be easy to create a small air supply from a suit's oxygen tanks. That's why you weren't gasping for breath when we were transported here."

Shran, who had been frowning, looked suspiciously at Sharith. "You don't strike me as someone who has that much foresight."

"And why is it," Reed continued, "all of a sudden, that you seem to understand and speak English very well?" Of course, he'd had his suspicions ever since he'd seen the books in English in Sharith's shop, but the man had put on such a convincing act as a dimwitted dolt that Reed had been fooled into thinking that he wasn't proficient in English.

"Yes, why is that, Sharith?" Shran asked, advancing menacingly on the man from the other side. "The translator was left behind on the shuttle. But you don't seem to have any trouble understanding what's being said now—and you didn't in the transporter room, for that matter."

"Ah, you, ah, just assumed I didn't know Reed's language, so I went along with it," Sharith offered tentatively. "I was curious about you two, and your relationship. I thought I could learn more about it if pretended not to know what you were saying."

Reed wasn't buying his story. Good covert operatives were hard to break, and they could adapt to fit the situation. So he went for the one thing he knew might rattle Sharith, who, because he was Andorian, was supposed to have an ingrained sense of the importance of family. "What's Shian going to say about all this? When he finds out you orchestrated all the thefts of classified data—and used his daughter to make him go along with it! I saw the room where she was kept—little more than a cold, bare cell. Your own niece!"

Sharith's demeanor subtly changed in front of them. He straightened slightly, going from a defensive posture to a more confident one, and there was a cold glint in his dark eyes. "I would never hurt Takni!"

"And Parah—" Shran started, only to be interrupted by Sharith.

"—is a stupid fool!" he spat out. "She never should have stopped you outside the warehouse. And for what? Because she thought you would become her chan!" He glared at Shran. "As if that video wasn't enough to convince her you wouldn't be interested!"

Reed grabbed Sharith by the front of his shirt. "You let that recording get out." He shook Sharith. "You little—"

A sudden, excruciatingly sharp pain in Reed's side made him break off with a startled intake of air. He now had a physical reminder sticking between his ribs of why covert operatives weren't supposed to become involved with their coworkers. His anger, and his embarrassment about the recording, had distracted him, allowing Sharith to stab him without him even being aware of the other man drawing the knife out of concealment. There was a good possibility that it had been a fatal mistake.

### CHAPTER 12

The knife had slid between two of Reed's ribs. Despite his astonishment that Sharith had stabbed him, Reed had enough presence of mind and the quick reflexes to grab Sharith by the wrist. If the knife stayed in, it would act as a plug, but if it was removed, his fate would be to bleed to death on the deck of Shran's cabin. "Shran! Don't let him pull it out," Reed rasped.

Shran already had one arm around Sharith's neck, cutting off the man's air. Shran carefully disentangled Sharith's fingers from the hilt of the knife. Reed released his own desperate grip on Sharith's wrist as Shran dragged Sharith away from him.

"I should have known!" Shran cried in rage as he pulled Sharith by the neck across the cabin and slammed him against a bulkhead. "If you have killed my consort, I will kill you with my bare hands."

"The com panel," Reed said weakly as he sank to his knees. "Get the doctor." He wrapped his fingers around the guard of the knife, holding the blade in place. He could hear the two Andorians scuffling, but the sounds faded as his entire focus narrowed to his hand on the knife stuck in his side. He tried to will his blood to stop oozing out past the blade, but to no avail. The hilt was becoming slippery, his fingers around it stiffening.

His focus on the knife was broken when the door slid open. He looked up to see Tucker burst in, followed by T'Pol. As if his concentration on the knife had been the only thing that had kept him upright, he felt himself slip to the side. He struggled to maintain consciousness, mildly surprised that the wound didn't hurt that much, but his eyes fluttered closed. There was only a low ache, as if he had been punched. It must be shock that was making him so woozy.

Without warning, his hearing returned in a rush. The commotion of T'Pol helping Shran subdue Sharith made him cringe where he lay on the deck. Someone came to his side, pulling him to a seated position before cradling him in their arms, but it couldn't have been Shran, because when he forced his eyes to open, he could see Shran kneeling in front of him. "Beloved," Reed whispered urgently.

"Did he say something in Andorian?" asked a familiar voice, loud and close. Tucker was the person holding him, Reed realized fuzzily.

"Yes, something in Andorian," Shran said. He switched to Andorian, antennae curling uneasily, eyes burning. Reed could almost understand him, but in any case, translation wasn't necessary. Shran was clearly swearing vengeance, should he die.

"Thy'lek, beloved," he said again, because that was all he wanted Shran to know. They'd had a final night together. Their mission had been a success. He wanted nothing else—nothing, except perhaps to live so that he could share time with Shran.

"The doctor's coming, Malcolm," said Tucker, holding him tighter. "Everything's going to be all right. Just hold on."

The places where he was in contact with Tucker's body seemed almost uncomfortably hot to Reed, who had grown used to a much cooler skin against his. He closed his eyes as sound again receded.

It had been Sharith the whole time, Reed thought in weary disgust. Sharith, the apparently inept one under deep cover, the one who had used his own brother and niece to further his own goals, the voyeur disgusted with himself and what he was. Sharith was pathetic in every way. He was unworthy of being Reed's final thought.

"Beloved, come back to me," he heard Shran whisper. "I will be waiting for you."

Reed found his lips curling up in a smile. It was much better to think of Shran.

* * *

He drifted back to consciousness slowly, aware of being warm, if a bit hungry. An insistent beeping broke his desire to return to sleep, and he blinked open his eyes, then immediately shut them against the brightness. "Turn off that noise," he murmured, just as the beeping lengthened.

"Doctor, he's conscious," a hoarse voice called from nearby, and the beeping, blessedly, cut off. "Malcolm," Shran said more quietly. "How are you?"

Reed opened his eyes and smiled up at Shran. "I feel fine," he said because, while he didn't feel much of anything physically at the moment, Shran was there with him.

"It's likely the drugs the doctor pumped into you," Shran said, taking Reed's hand. He used his free hand to brush Reed's hair back, and Reed sighed under the petting. "The doctor said you had a concussion." He sounded almost accusing. "Not to mention the knife wound," he added, as if in afterthought.

"I assume it missed any vital organs," Reed said, enjoying the Andorian's cool touch.

"Yes. You had some kind of surgery to repair the damage."

Reed licked dry lips. "How long?"

"Just a few hours."

"Good." Reed sighed. "Good. Water?"

Without letting go of his hand, Shran grabbed a bottle from a nearby stand. Reed opened his mouth and let Shran squirt in a mouthful. "I'm sure you'll be strategizing a scheme to get out of here as quickly as possible," Shran teased with a soft laugh as he fed Reed water. "Unless you end up enjoying this coddling. Which does not seem much like you." Reed, too weak to join in Shran's laughter, could only smile as he remembered their shared aversion to being cooped up in medical facilities.

When Phlox bustled up a moment later, Reed had to let go of Shran's hand. He submitted with good grace to answering questions about his well-being because, frankly, he didn't have the energy to protest. At least he wasn't poked or prodded, for which he was grateful. The biobed he lay on apparently gave Phlox all the information he needed. Shran, who had stepped back at the doctor's approach, was watching intently. Reed could feel his gaze even when he wasn't looking at him.

Archer and T'Pol entered the room together a few minutes later. "Doctor?" Archer asked as Phlox fussed at the biobed monitor readouts.

Phlox responded with a smile, happy to impart good news. "Lieutenant Reed will recover, but he must remain in bed for a day to complete the tissue regeneration. He should be able to return to light duty within a week. He may even be able to go to his quarters in a few days if he promises not to overexert himself."

"Are you up for a debriefing, Malcolm?" Archer asked, pulling up a chair but casting an inquisitive glance at Shran on the other side of the biobed.

Reed caught the look and wondered. There was something in Archer's demeanor...No, he couldn't possibly know about him and Shran, he decided. Phlox may have picked up on it, but the doctor, with his strict adherence to patient confidentiality, wasn't one for spreading tales. He didn't think Tucker, who might have his own suspicions after seeing him in Shran's cabin, would have said anything to Archer, either. And T'Pol had said she saw no reason to inform the captain about it. It was probably just his usual paranoid tendencies kicking in. Besides, Shran had a legitimate right to be present during any debriefing for the mission and subsequent events aboard _Enterprise._

He became aware of Archer waiting for an answer, and brought his meandering thoughts back. "Yes, sir," Reed responded. He gingerly touched the spot where he been stabbed. "I take it Sharith was the criminal mastermind?"

"He was," Archer answered. "T'Pol tells me that Vulcan agents are searching his shop for data. We should have a report in about a day."

Reed knew that they might find another copy of the video of himself and Shran in addition to any actual intelligence, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The recording had already been released, and there wasn't anything he could do about that. If anything public came of it, well, he'd deal with it, but he was determined to not worry about it until then. "And Shian?"

"He seems unaware of Sharith's complicity," T'Pol answered, moving to stand behind the captain so that Reed didn't have to turn his head to look at her. "I have questioned them separately. Sharith apparently went to some trouble to ensure that his brother did not learn of his actions. Shian dealt exclusively with Parah Ushaan, who we now know was acting on Sharith's orders."

"T'Pol finished the analysis of the data disk," Archer said. "It's genuine."

Reed's exhalation of relief was mirrored by Shran's.

"Yes," T'Pol said. "A liaison to the Vulcan High Command on the trade planet was most helpful in permitting me to authenticate it. She sends her greetings."

"Oh?" Shran asked, puzzled.

"She met you briefly. She holds a job as a receptionist on the trade planet," T'Pol clarified.

Yes, of course. Reed suppressed a grin. The elderly Vulcan woman with the too-sensitive ears was a spy for the Vulcan High Command. Before Shran had told him that was indeed what she was, he had postulated that as a possible role for the old lady.

But as far as what he'd overlooked, Reed was ashamed that he'd been so thoroughly deceived. "I was completely taken in by Sharith's act," he said ruefully. "I thought he seemed too stupid to be believed, much less run a criminal organization. I should have questioned it. Too much didn't add up." He remembered the pile of English-language books, and the back room full of used but serviceable electronics. But despite what, if only in retrospect, had been obvious warning signs, he knew exactly why he'd discounted Sharith. It was because of Sharith's honest, perverse interest in his relationship with Shran. Somehow, that weakness seemed at odds with an organized criminal mastermind. "What does Sharith think I am?"

T'Pol's slight hesitation before she answered was probably only noticed by Reed and Shran. "Exactly what you presented yourselves to be: overeager Andorian patriots who stumbled across his plans to sell the information to the highest bidder—a stance bolstered by Shian, I might add."

"To anyone who might have been involved, except for Sharith, it will appear to be a local dispute, without Earth, Vulcan, or Andorian governments being involved," Archer said. "That's to our benefit. The conspirators have no idea how close they came to toppling the Andorian–Vulcan accord." A shadow crossed his face. "But Shran is right. The conspiracy goes much further than we anticipated. The information on the disk you recovered will let Vulcan and Andoria mop up quietly, and it will give Earth and a few other planets a place to begin investigations into leaks of their own sensitive defense and weapons research."

Reed was beginning to feel incredibly sleepy. Phlox's drugs, no doubt. Some debriefing this was, he thought, fighting the urge to yawn. He could hardly stay awake. He'd already told Archer and T'Pol most of what he knew when he and Shran had first returned, but he had some questions of his own. He started with a simple one. "Sharith's in the brig, I take it?" he asked.

"Yes, he most definitely is," Archer said.

Shran took a step closer to Reed's bed and looked down at him. "Sharith will be turned over to Andorian authorities as soon as _Enterprise_ can rendezvous with an Imperial Guard ship. Parah Ushaan will be apprehended as well. And Captain Archer has kindly agreed to honor T'Pol's offer to allow Shian and Takni to disembark on a nice, cold planet. If Andorian authorities want to find him, they can look themselves." The cast of Shran's features changed to something harder, and Reed was reminded again of Shran's ability to effortlessly shift moods and mind-sets as circumstances demanded. "But we can't permit Shian and Sharith to say goodbye to each other, if Shian is to remain untainted by his brother's crimes and ignorant of our sanctioned involvement. Shian isn't aware he's on a Starfleet vessel; Sharith is. He saw Commander Tucker's uniform."

Reed sighed. "Shian probably suspects."

"He can't prove anything. He would be wise to keep his suspicions to himself."

Shran's comment was backed up by T'Pol, who said, "It would be in his daughter's best interest for him to remain quiet on the subject."

Reed grunted in agreement, then said, "I remember being concerned when Sharith showed up at Shran's cabin. He shouldn't have been roaming freely." He let the statement hang, unwilling to accuse T'Pol of what he'd perceived as a lapse on her part after all the other precautions she'd taken, like clearing the corridors of personnel. There was also the fact that she and Tucker had showed up just in time to keep him from bleeding to death as Shran had been wrestling with Sharith. He didn't want to appear ungrateful.

"MACOs were stationed outside the guest cabin," Archer said. "First, Sharith drugged the other two Andorians. Then he lured the MACOs into the cabin by telling them that something was wrong with his brother and niece. He knocked the MACOs unconscious and tied them up."

At an angry exclamation from Shran, Archer assured him, "All of them—Shian and his daughter and the two MACOs—are fine."

"Shian and Takni are still sleeping off the effects of a strong sedative," Phlox put in from where he'd been hovering in the background. "I wouldn't be surprised to find they were totally unaware of ingesting it, probably in their food."

Reed frowned. How had Sharith gotten his hands on sedatives? But before he could ask, T'Pol said, "Security found med wrappers in Sharith's pocket when he was searched before he was placed in the brig. He brought the drugs on board with him."

"Well prepared," Reed commented. He was glad to hear that Shian and his daughter hadn't been harmed. But drugging someone's food and taking down a couple of MACOs were two entirely different things. "Exactly how were the MACOs incapacitated?" Reed wondered.

"A form of Andorian martial arts, if the bruise patterns on their bodies are any indication," T'Pol answered.

Yet another area in which he'd underestimated Sharith, Reed thought with chagrin. Who would have thought bumbling Sharith capable of incapacitating not one, but two individuals highly trained in hand-to-hand combat? Certainly he hadn't. He remembered the night raid Sharith and his team had made on the shuttle's location. Sharith had stayed behind while the others had moved in. Reed had assumed it was because he lacked the skills for that kind of attack, but now it seemed like a power tactic. Or had Sharith anticipated Shran and Reed's play and was two steps ahead?

Reed eyes didn't want to stay open, but he had one more question he had to ask before he could give in to slumber. With effort, he focused on T'Pol. "How did you and Trip know to come to Shran's cabin?"

"Commander Tucker saw an Andorian in the corridor as he was leaving Commander Shran's cabin," T'Pol replied. "He was curious, and contacted me to find out who was...'skulking around' was the phrase he used. I logically deduced it was Sharith, who had somehow managed to slip by his guards. We checked the guest cabin, found the unconscious Andorians and MACOs, and went to Shran's cabin, only to hear sounds of an altercation. I thought it prudent to enter without seeking permission."

"I'm glad you did," Reed mumbled. His most pressing questions answered, he was overwhelmed with tiredness. There was no way he could keep his eyes open any longer. "I think I'm going to fall asleep, sir," he said apologetically to Archer.

"Get some rest, Lieutenant." Archer smiled and stood up. "T'Pol? Shran? Join me for a late breakfast in the captain's mess?"

"Thank you, Captain," T'Pol said, inclining her head.

"I'll stay here with Lieutenant Reed, Captain," Shran said. He walked around the foot of the bed and settled into the chair Archer had vacated. "I do feel somewhat responsible for his predicament."

"If all goes to schedule," T'Pol said, "we will rendezvous with the Imperial Guard ship in six hours."

"I'll be ready to transfer the prisoner and take my leave," Shran said. "Perhaps you can make time for one last drink of Andorian ale with me, Captain?"

"Of course," Archer said. He looked at Reed, his gaze flicking back to Shran, before turning to his first officer. "T'Pol?"

Phlox followed them to the door, and a moment later, Archer and T'Pol were gone. Phlox, with a final glance back at them, disappeared into the room where he kept his creatures.

"Only six hours," Reed said, fighting to stay awake as Shran took his hand again. "And me too ill to make those hours memorable."

Shran pressed a gentle kiss on Reed's lips, cool lips against warm. "And I need to leave to make a report to the Andorian government," he apologized. "I'm afraid my duty comes before my personal desires."

"We have that in common," Reed admitted as exhaustion descended. "I think I must stay with Starfleet. We can sort it all out later. But just so you know—" He literally could not keep his eyes open.

"Yes?" Shran prompted.

"I regret nothing," Reed murmured. "I thought I was dead. Our mission was a success, and we had had a night together in a bed that was big enough. It was enough. But now—"

"Now, a future stretches out before us," he heard Shran say.

He smiled as he felt Shran kiss his temple.

"I want to meet your sister, Malcolm," Shran whispered. "Your whole family."

"Beloved," Reed responded, the Andorian word dropping easily from his lips. "So you shall—some day."

### EPILOGUE

#### TWO MONTHS LATER

The port-side phase cannon was off-line, the torpedo targeting system needed to be realigned, and several MACOs as well as one of his own security staff were being treated in sickbay. All in all, the unexpected encounter with the Orions had turned out better than it might have, Reed thought. They hadn't lost a single crew member, either to fatal injury or capture for the slave markets. And the damage that had been done to the ship could be repaired. He and Tucker and their respective staffs would see to that.

As he finished handing out work assignments in the armory, Reed felt content—not in the sense that he was happy that _Enterprise_ had come through the encounter relatively unscathed, which of course he was. Rather, it was a feeling of competency and wholeness on his part. He was in his element, doing what he'd been trained to do. If he was honest with himself, he would admit that it was what he lived to do: protecting and taking care of people he'd come to view as his friends, and in some cases family, and a ship he thought of as his home.

As the crew members moved off to their tasks, he checked his data padd for the list of parts still needed for repairs. A sense of déjà vu washed over him. He'd reviewed a similar list while he'd been on the covert ops mission on Bliisilgril. He smiled. Memories of Shran popped up at the oddest times. Reed had thought that, given time, his fascination—he wasn't sure he could bring himself to go so far as to call it love, but it was close—with the Andorian might fade. But it hadn't, and throughout the course of each day, little things, like the repair list, often reminded him of Shran. It wasn't as good as having Shran here with him, but for the time being, memories would have to suffice—that, and the recording of him and Shran in Sharith's bed, where interest had morphed into all-encompassing need. T'Pol had said she'd delete the recording after the mission was completed, but instead, she had unobtrusively presented it to him without a word, for which he was grateful.

Reed, still smiling, looked up as the hatch to the armory was pushed open and Hoshi Sato stepped in. The diminutive communications officer had the pouch for mail delivery slung over her shoulder, reminding him that it had been two months, and he hadn't heard from Shran. Then again, he hadn't sent any messages of his own to the Andorian. He'd considered it, but something—duty, pride, fear of rejection, he didn't know what—had held him back. Besides, they'd said all they had needed to say before Shran had left. Since then, Reed had clung to the promise that they would be together again sometime in the future, and that for now, his work would be enough.

He was surprised when Sato walked straight to him, for he rarely received personal correspondence, much less correspondence that required transfer to physical media. Most communications came straight to his console.

"I have something for you, Lieutenant," she said as she approached him. She rummaged in the pouch and pulled out not one, but two disks, both of which she handed to him. "These were in the last compressed data dump from Starfleet."

"Thank you, Hoshi," he said, surprised. He turned the disks over, looking at them. As was typical, there were no markings to indicate who they were from. "Reed" was the only word inscribed on both in Sato's handwriting.

"Aren't you going to look at them?" she asked after a few moments.

"What? Oh!" he said, realizing he'd been standing there staring at the disks. As she continued to look at him in bemusement, he added, "I have too much to do right now. I'll look at them later. Thanks again."

"You have a lot more discipline than the rest of the crew," she remarked with a wry smile, walking toward one of his staff to make her next delivery.

Reed stuffed the disks in his pocket. Much as he would have liked to look at them immediately, there was, as he'd told Sato, too much to do before he could take a break. He devotion to duty, his discipline as Sato had put it, was too strong to give in to a personal impulse. At least, that's what he told himself.

His shift passed in a productive blur. He oversaw his staff, he helped realign the targeting system, he even checked the charges in the phase pistol power cells. The whole time, he was acutely aware of the disks in his pocket, and he knew that by finding work to do, all he was really doing was postponing finding out who the letters were from and what was in them.

The fact that he'd received two was definitely a surprise. One might be from Shran. He certainly hoped one was from Shran because, despite their mutual understanding that duty came first, he missed the man. Memories didn't suffice when he was lying in bed, alone, at night. But he was also dreading finding out what Shran's message was, if indeed one of the disks was from him. Shran had never struck him as being a person to indulge in sappy romantic feelings; he was a man of action. Would it be good news or bad? What if, now that they'd been apart long enough to grow reaccustomed to their old routines, Shran had changed his mind, or had had second thoughts, or—

Reed muttered a curse. There was no use speculating. It was possible neither of the letters was from Shran, in which case he was worrying about nothing. He did occasionally—all right, very occasionally—receive news from home. All five correspondence disks he'd received from his family during his tenure on _Enterprise_ were lined up on the shelf above his desk in his cabin. To some people, that might seem a paltry collection, but for the Reed family, it was practically an encyclopedia. Neither his parents nor his sister were good at keeping in touch.

As soon as his shift was finished, Reed hurried to his cabin where he could view the letters in privacy. The first disk he inserted into the reader slot was a video letter from his sister, Madeline. At any other time, he would have been pleased. While he and his sister weren't terribly close, they did get along, and he enjoyed hearing from her. But right now he had to resist the urge to yank the disk from the slot so he could see who the other one was from. Instead, he made himself sit and listen, trying not to fidget, as she told him about events in her life, most inconsequential but of interest to a family member, and asked after him. She ended by telling him about an upcoming family gathering, with aunts, uncles, and cousins he hadn't seen in years. Of course she wished he could be there, but she understood that his being in Starfleet and off somewhere in space might get in the way.

He smiled at the droll way she had said that last bit. Despite her teasing, he could tell she was proud of him. He took the disk from the slot after her sign-off, knowing he'd look at it again later—he'd patiently watched the whole thing, but he hadn't really been paying attention—after he found out what was on the other disk.

He inserted the second disk into the slot. The official Andorian emblem popped up on the screen, and Reed had an unreasonable premonition that something was horribly wrong. Both he and Shran had occupations that had more than their share of danger, and it was possible that one or both of them could be killed. Would Shran have left instructions for someone to contact him in the event of his death? Then Shran's face appeared, and Reed let out his breath in a gust. His unaccustomed near panic had been irrational, he knew, but maybe that was why he hadn't sent any messages to Shran—he didn't want the other man to experience the same gut-wrenching surge of anxiety that he'd just felt.

Almost as if he'd known how Reed would react, Shran was smiling sardonically out at him from the screen without speaking. Reed drank in the familiar blue features and white hair, the gently waving antennae, and was reaching to touch the face on the screen with his fingertips when Shran finally spoke.

"I hope this finds you well, Reed. I myself am fine, as is only to be expected."

Reed laughed out loud, partially in relief that Shran was all right, but more at the arrogant tone he knew so well.

"Once I finished on Andoria with the tedious details after our mission, I was assigned command of an Imperial Guard ship. I find, however, that the ship is not ready for me. Something about upgrades to systems security."

Shran paused to smirk. The upgrades must be part of what Shran had called "tedious details," Reed realized. New protocols would have to be installed because Andorian security standards had been breached during the theft of all that classified data. Shran reached for something off screen, and Reed saw his hand draw back with a glass of blue ale. Shran took a hearty swallow. Reed had the distinct impression that he was being teased. When the Andorian lowered the glass and looked at him with a smoldering expression, Reed knew he'd been correct in that assumption.

"I find, however, that despite the satisfaction of a job well done, and no matter how good it is to be home, there is something missing. I think we both know what that is."

A jolt of pure heat went straight to Reed's groin, but it was quenched by an ice-cold chill as Shran suddenly became stern, leaning back in his chair, glass of ale in his hand.

"I have given our situation a lot of thought..."

Here it comes, Reed thought, his happiness at hearing from Shran turning to despair. It was as he'd feared. Shran had changed his mind. He'd decided that their relationship wouldn't work. Despite his earlier assurances, Shran was telling him that he wasn't going to wait to see what the future held for them.

"...and I know I told you that I am an Imperial Guard member for life. I am being truthful when I say that I am not sure I would change that, even for you, beloved."

Reed closed his eyes. Shran was trying to let him down easy. There was no other reason for him to have used the cherished endearment.

"But that doesn't mean I can't take a vacation now and then."

Reed's eyes flew open to find Shran grinning that smarmy smile that so annoyed and pleased him at the same time.

"I expect you feel the same. I know of your devotion to duty. I know you think of some of your crewmates as family. Who am I to tear you away from them? But surely they can let you have some time off. Perhaps you could have a relapse of your concussion, and they could send you back to Earth for a month or two."

Reed stared in slack-jawed amazement at the screen.

"Now gather up all your insecurities—I know you were worried there for a moment, and I'm sorry if I scared you, but I just couldn't resist—you really are too serious for your own good—and let me know when you can be on Earth. The sooner the better, actually, because eventually, my ship will be ready for me, and before that, I plan to tour some of the tourist attractions on your world." Shran huffed. "I've always been there on business, and I haven't had time to take in the sights. And perhaps you'll be kind enough to introduce me to your family." His features underwent another of his mercurial shifts to something both tender and fierce at the same time. "You are my only beloved. Do not ever doubt that, Malcolm."

"Beloved," Reed said softly, reaching out again to touch the screen just as it went blank.

He sat there for several moments, trying to absorb what he'd heard. The most important thing was that Shran wanted to continue their relationship, even if he'd had had a little fun at Reed's expense while telling him that. Typical arrogant, irritating, beloved Shran. How could Reed have ever doubted him?

Reed had never really wanted to take leave before, so never having used much of his leave time, he had accumulated quite a bit. There was no question that he wanted to use it now, however. He knew it might be tricky arranging passage back to Earth on short notice, but it could be done. Surely Archer would give him permission. Bloody hell, Archer would probably encourage it! The captain was always after him to go on leave when they were at some planet or back at Earth.

And surely _Enterprise_ would fare well in his absence. He had trained all the security staff to his standards, after all.

He laughed in delight and stood up, striding back and forth across his cabin as he made plans. So Shran wanted to see the sights on Earth, did he? Not that Reed fancied the role of tour guide, but as long as it was Shran he was showing around, it wouldn't matter. No doubt Shran would have disparaging comments to make about most of the monuments and natural wonders he'd see, but he wouldn't expect anything else from Shran.

Reed stopped in his tracks as he remembered Shran's request to meet his family. He wasn't sure that was a good idea. He couldn't very well show up on his parents' doorstep with Shran in tow, expecting that the two of them would share his old room. His father would take one look at Shran—a man, and an alien to boot—and have a fit. Reed could only imagine what Shran's reaction to his father's reaction would be, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be there when that happened. No, they'd have to find accommodations somewhere else. And yet, it wouldn't be right to spend so much time on Earth and not see his family at all.

He snapped his fingers and went back to the desk, where he reinserted the disk from his sister in the reader and rolled it to the end. Madeline had said something about a family gathering. If Shran could be irritating and annoying, well, so could his family. What better way to let Shran find out what his family was like than to throw him right into a big group of Reeds? The mass of them would make his father seem less alarming. He'd warn Madeline, of course, but the rest were on their own.

There was also the small matter of how his family would react toward Reed himself, but if Shran was with him, he could more than deal with it. In fact, he was looking forward to it, he decided. He and Shran would be together, and there was nothing his family could do about it.

Reed could hardly wait.


End file.
